


Idols and Dead Men

by Sath



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloodline-compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, Galactic conquest, Homophobia and other terrible things in the First Order, M/M, Scheming, Star Wars-style politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6723853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/pseuds/Sath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the truth about Kylo Ren's heritage is revealed to the galaxy, Snoke commands his apprentice to destroy the New Republic from within. Ren finds an unexpected ally in General Hux.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prosperity is a lie

**SENATOR KYLO REN FINALLY CLEARED OF JEDI KILLER ACCUSATIONS**

_After six years of investigation, Judge Turis Envel has declared that Kylo Ren, Naboo’s controversial representative in the New Galactic Senate, holds no guilt in the infamous massacre at Luke Skywalker’s Jedi school. “In the face of a complete lack of evidence, and Kylo Ren’s demonstrated lack of strong Force ability, I am closing this case,” declared Judge Envel. “It is time for all of us to focus on healing.”_

_Many have described Senator Ren’s entire political career as a move to distance himself from the shadow of Skywalker’s school, as well as his own family. Originally known as Ben Organa, Ren left the school shortly before the massacre and has had no further contact with his parents, Alliance heroes Leia and Han Organa. Ren has since served as a senator for nearly as long as he was investigated for being the Jedi Killer. Though dogged by controversy, Ren has an impressive history of achievement in the Senate, prompting some to compare his meteoric rise to that of Emperor Palpatine’s._

_When asked how this ruling would affect him personally, Ren said with his characteristically firm, clipped tone, “I moved beyond the massacre long before the clumsy investigation did. Nothing has changed for me.”_

Hux tossed the datapad back on the table. How the Intelligence Office staff read so much Rebel pabulum was honestly worthy of more credit than he’d previously given them. The esteemed Senator Ren, suspected murderer and certain liar, refused to meet with anyone of a lower rank than General. He was also the only senator willing to speak with a representative of the First Order at all, so Hux was bundled off to Hosnian Prime, to bow, scrape, and otherwise do the opposite of what his rank and upbringing had trained him for.

“We’ll be dropping out of hyperspace shortly, sir,” Mitaka said. Already a nervous-looking man, Mitaka’s face had curled into an even more nervous arrangement.

“And the Rebels haven’t blown us out of the galaxy yet,” Hux observed.

“Right. A tactical error on their part. Sir, the Minister for the Protection of Families has given me a short message to relate to you, about your meeting with the Senator.” Mitaka looked at Hux’s polished boots, radiating misery. “She wanted you to know that if you find it difficult not to, ah, forgive me for having to say this sir, it was ordered, difficult not to take advantage of the Senator’s known profligacies for the same-sex that it would not be entered on your record as a second offense against the family.”

That private message could have been sent over email instead of the embarrassment of having it delivered personally; Hux would have to look into how he’d attracted the minister’s displeasure.  Mitaka had started to sweat when Hux finally replied, “The word, Lieutenant, is ‘proclivity,’ not profligacy.”

“Thank you for the correction, sir. Is there anything you need?”

“Solitude.”

Mitaka seemed to evaporate from the room. Hux turned back to his irritated scrolling through his datapad, skimming articles with titles like “Accused ‘Jedi Killer’ Speaks Against Disarmament in the Mid Rim” and “Senator Trashes Yet Another Repulsorpod in Reaction to Moisture Farm Bill’s Defeat.” His loathing for the mission steadily rose.

But the First Order was desperate for the Rebel government to relax its trade sanctions. With the Order’s resources caught up in the Starkiller project, the people were literally starving in the more remote colonies, and civilians often went without basic items. Senators already aiding the First Order wouldn’t dare risk having their financial ties exposed by publicly expressing their real loyalties. As for Ren, sympathy for the First Order was almost the only thing the press hadn’t yet associated him with, making him useful to their cause. Except for the facts that Ren was temperamental, had no consistent political alignment, and was probably only meeting with Hux to stoke his already substantial notoriety into a campaign for even higher office.

With thirty minutes left before they docked, Hux went to the viewport to watch the swift descent towards Republic City. There were so many lights. Not only in the capital, but in blooms of development across the whole planet. It was 22:00, well past the time when electricity began to be rationed on most First Order worlds. The skyscrapers were just coming into view when the shuttle was seized by a tractor beam and pulled into the spaceport.

Republic City was built on the suffering of its people. He would not be misled by the prosperity of the lucky few who took advantage of the chaos after the Emperor’s death.

The shuttle lurched to a stop. Hux was as ready to meet the senator as anyone of his station could be. His uniform was in perfect order, and his greatcoat would make up for what his genes lacked in cutting an intimidating figure. Unfortunately, both Ren and the false Senate had been unequivocal in their demands that Hux go unarmed and unguarded. What was Hux going to do—lead ten people into a successful assault of the puppet government?

“Docking complete,” the pilot announced over the comm. “Local time is twenty-two hours, twenty-nine minutes. The Senator’s already waiting for you, sir.”

“Lower the gangway,” Hux commanded. The shuttle’s crew gave Hux one last salute before he descended.

Advertisements covered the spaceport walls and aliens walked alongside humans in the crowded walkways. It was chaos, but Hux was removed from it all by the private platform. Senator Ren was the only person waiting for him, without the horde of assistants and guards Hux had expected. Ren lacked the feverish energy he showed in most of his Senate holos, instead standing serenely in the hooded shimmersilk monstrosity he wore that passed for Republican fashion.  

There were niceties which should be said. Hux had even watched a few diplomatic holos on the trip, so they were fresh in his mind. But he was a general, and not some pseudo-droid flunkey. “I thought politicians were always late,” Hux said.

Ren tilted his head as if he hadn’t quite heard. “Your propaganda must have misinformed you. Arriving early has its advantages.”

“Such as?”

“That disappointed look on your face. Hello, I’m Senator Ren.” He held out his hand for Hux to shake. The way Ren did it, it seemed as if Hux was supposed to kiss his ring. “You must be General Hux. You’ve very loud in your holos.”

Hux reluctantly put his hand in Ren’s. Contrary to what one of the headshrinkers back at the Academy would say, Hux learned nothing from Ren’s grip. “I believe in what I’m saying.”

“Conviction is rather rare in the New Republic,” Ren replied, smiling blandly. “I’m surprised the First Order agreed to my request. They might be looking to get rid of you.”

The thought had been nagging at Hux ever since he had been chosen for this vile assignment. But his enemies had nothing useful to work with beyond Hux’s small list of vices. Offenses against the family by someone of Hux’s rank meant nothing. General Sere doted on his three half-Theelin bastards and had sent an aide in his place to serve his required courses of reeducation. Failing to move the Senator, on the other hand, could go much worse than that for Hux.

“You can be flattered to know that I’m quite valuable,” Hux replied. “Where are your guards?”

“Out of sight. Republic City is quite safe, and I’d like to show you some of it.”

Hux had to walk quickly to keep up with Ren as he turned to leave the dock. “Why?”

“I can read a report on the effects of the trade sanctions on the Unknown Regions. But that tells me nothing about what kind of people the First Order creates. Like me, you’re part of the first generation after Yavin.”

The door slid open, revealing the frenzied nightscape of Republic City. Hux’s protest that he wasn’t like Ren at all went tactfully unsaid as he resisted gawking. He tried to imagine how much everything had cost, the wasted labor on creating the most garish and useless buildings possible. All of this industry left without a single guiding hand.

In the absence of a proper government, Hosnian Prime’s marvels would be short-lived. Just as they always had, the Core Worlds hoarded all the resources for themselves. Seeing their wealth up close, when he was beholden to Ren just to ask for his small share of it, brought bile to Hux’s throat.

Ren’s speeder was twice as big as it needed to be, idly hovering just below the walkway. He had the nerve to steady Hux by the arm as he stepped in after him. Hux resisted jerking away, but not the revealing flush. If the senator wanted to play the gallant instead of a politician, the night would be excruciating. At least the speeder had ample space, despite the arrogant spread of Ren’s legs.

“You asked for me specifically?” Hux said.

“Of course,” Ren replied. The speeder’s engine came to life with a deep growl, probably from thousands of credits of aftermarket modifications. “The others of your rank have already been defeated once. I have no interest in them.”

Being requested was a relief, but an insult to the First Order could not stand. “My comrades were not defeated. They recognized an unwinnable battle, created by a cowardly mass conspiracy.”

“A strategic retreat,” Ren said, with a smug curve to his lips.

“I would not be here without their sacrifice. This… thing,” Hux declared, at a loss for words to describe the New Republic, gesturing at the buildings they were passing, “would have crushed me. I’m a soldier.”

“But you’re not fighting a war. Are you, General?” Ren looked at Hux searchingly, daring him to admit that the First Order wasn’t the toothless fringe group the Rebels pretended it was.

“We are prepared to fight.”

“Perhaps you would do better to learn to feed yourselves first.”

Hux grit his teeth. “The New Republic created our famine.”

“The Unknown Regions aren’t without resources. You must be doing something with them.” Ren paused, considering his next words. “A blaster that’s never fired is an ornament, not a weapon.”

“It can still send a message.”

“A weak one.”

In that, Hux silently agreed. Ren was an enviable pilot, nimbly entering the busy skylane and maneuvering around traffic. Instead of going on a salesman’s pitch about the benefits of demagoguery, Ren kept quiet. The skylane eventually slowed to a clog even Ren couldn’t avoid, and he brought the speeder to a stop. He pointed across from Hux at an alien trapped in the same traffic jam.

“That’s my least favorite journalist,” Ren said, switching to a wave when the alien flailed about for a camera. Ren reached out to check that Hux had buckled in, his hand trailing over his chest, and this time Hux couldn’t stop himself from backing against the seat in alarm just as the camera’s flash went off. “Don’t worry; we’ll be fine.”

“Do you realize what this will look—”

Ren killed the speeder’s engine and nudged its nose to the right, sending them into a wild dive towards the ground.

“Are you completely mad?” Hux snarled, his heart somewhere in his throat. He tried to press the ignition and wrest control of the speeder, but Ren grabbed his wrist and squeezed.

“I know what I’m doing.”

One look at Ren, and Hux knew he would break his wrist if he kept struggling. There might be a bare kilometer left between them and the ground. Ren let go and casually switched the engine back on, bringing the speeder level just in time. Hux gripped his thighs to hide the involuntary tremble as Ren accelerated, zipping past the mass-produced shelters Republic City’s poorest workers lived in. Good to know that ‘democracy’ hadn’t really changed.

“He would have followed us all night,” Ren remarked. “And I knew you’d want to see the slums.”

Their wild descent had knocked Ren’s hood back, making him look younger. Hux wasn’t sure what to think of him; his features veered between pretty and awkward, and his profile was mostly nose. The First Order would have made him cut his hair and improve his posture.

“There are spies even down here,” said Ren. “The New Republic is desperate to know our every word. But I know a place where they can’t listen in.”

* * *

Ren’s secure room was a private box at the Republic Reborn Opera House. As he explained it, the Rebel government was too afraid of offending corporate “copyright” to exercise its legal right to plant surveillance wherever it was needed. It was a laughably easy loophole to exploit. The only real punishment for criminal activity that Hux could see was being forced to sit through _Squid Lake_ , which was certainly as awful as the name suggested.

Their box was placed so high up that Ren had to stand just to see the singers. Hux, having no curiosity about Mon Calamari drama, stayed in his seat and out of the operagoers’ eyelines.

“There’s a spice deal going on in the box across from us,” Ren whispered, leaning on the railing. “That Devaronian’s worth more than half this planet. Even the First Senator’s not too expensive for her to bribe.”

Hux sipped at his second glass of Corellian whisky. The personal questions he had dreaded never came; Ren rarely asked his opinion. After watching Ren nearly smear both of them across the surface of Hosnian Prime, Hux suspected he might not even have to speak for Ren to know his mind. The Imperial Security Bureau had destroyed knowledge of the Jedi too well, leaving Hux to wonder what Luke Skywalker’s most famous failure was capable of.

There was one common vein in Ren’s speech: contempt for the New Republic. Hux was so desperate to succeed that he could hardly believe his own ears when Ren detailed all the ways corruption had overtaken the government.

“You seem dissatisfied with the New Republic, Senator Ren,” Hux said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Ren turned to Hux. “If we were on Coruscant, we could have sat in the Emperor’s box at the Galaxies. The Naboo paid for it, and the owners thought it would be more of an eyesore to tear out than to leave up.”

Hux found himself tensely tapping his fingers against his glass. “Don’t you find it repulsive, having his things?”

With a shake of his head, Ren replied, “His possessions ought to be used, rather than superstitiously treated like cursed artifacts of the dark side. Not all Palpatine did was wrong.” Ren looked over the audience, a febrile cast to his eyes. “Though none of it lasted, because his understanding of the Force was flawed. He killed his master before he could be taught his final lesson.”

“You left yours.” The words tumbled out before Hux could stop himself, bringing Ren’s attention back to him.

“He had nothing to teach me.”

Ren had a new master. Something had wormed its way into the New Republic, working in secrecy to—what? Hux’s mouth was dry. Ren might support the First Order; how he had been turned against his own parents was beside the point. Sith Lords, the legends went, had hideous yellow eyes. Ren’s were merely very brown.

“Would you like me to bring you to Coruscant?” Ren asked. He leaned over Hux, placing his hands on the armrests. Anyone spying on them would just see the silk of Ren’s sleeves and his bent back. “Taking up the same space as your dead idol, thinking the same thoughts about ruling the galaxy?”

Nothing Hux could do would paint a bigger target on his back than admitting his ambitions in public, and Ren thought it made for good flirtation. Hux was still reeling when Ren brushed his knuckles against his jawline, tilting his head the way he liked. This was the time for Hux to tell Ren he was flattered, but unwilling to complicate their negotiations.

“No one’s looking at us. I can tell.”

Ren kissed Hux’s temple first. He lowered his lips to Hux’s mouth, kissing him so lightly that Hux had to take control. Pressing his hand to the back of Ren’s neck, he pulled him closer, trusting Ren to keep what they did out of sight. Ren kept yielding to him, letting Hux slip his tongue past his lips and take all the time he wanted. Hux shouldn’t be doing any of this, not in fucking public where someone bored with the opera could look up and see Senator Ren being tongued by a high-ranking officer of a militant fringe group. And it would reach the First Order eventually, land on the desk of the Minister for the Protection of Families, and she would ask Hux exactly how many good little soldiers he planned on conceiving with his new boyfriend. A teacher had made him sit with a bar of soap in his mouth for half an hour just for doing exactly this, kissing someone with an inconvenient set of parts, and it all made him furious. He pushed Ren away, relishing the annoyed furrow between his brows.

“This won’t influence my decision,” said Ren.

“Good.” Hux believed him. Knowing what little he did of Ren, it seemed likely that he’d made up his mind before Hux had even left friendly space. “Then I want you to fuck me.”

* * *

Of all the unnecessary luxuries of life under the Rebel government, Hux’s new favorite was the small lobby behind their box seating, and its locking door. Ren glanced at the couch and declared that Hux was too tall for it, settling on pushing him up against the bar cabinet. 

“Usually bring shorter men up here?” Hux asked.

“Yes,” Ren said, drawing Hux into another kiss before turning him around. “Does that make you feel superior?”

“Many things do.”

Hux braced his arms on the bar top, next to the still-open whisky and the glass tumblers. If Ren wasn’t careful, he could send a whole month of a junior officer’s salary crashing onto the floor. His hands were clumsy on the old-fashioned buttons of Hux’s breeches, but quicker to slide his fingers into the band of Hux’s briefs and pull them both down past his thighs.

“Your tunic is too long,” Ren muttered.

Sighing, Hux reached down to unbuckle his belt and undo just enough buttons to yank the whole thing over his head. He was already chilly by the time his tunic hit the floor. Ren’s hands were hot on his lower back as he pushed Hux’s undershirt up, and he could hear Ren fiddling around with his own clothing. Anticipating sex with someone new always left Hux nervous, eager to get any of the awkwardness over and done with. Hux’s arousal surged when Ren nudged his legs further apart; it was supposed to be humiliating to let another man do this to him, but he’d never felt any shame. Just that same simmering anger at being held to someone else’s standards.

“Don’t spend forever with your fingers up my arse,” Hux said.  

“Yes, sir.” While Ren searched through one of the cabinet drawers, Hux wondered if some holovid star might have recently been in his place, hoping the lubricant wasn’t scented. Ren pulled Hux flush against him and asked, “Are you sure?”

“Congratulations on your penis, Senator,” Hux replied dryly, because Ren was smug enough before Hux found out he was hung like a bantha. “You’re easily in the top percentile of cocks I’ve internalized.”

Ren laughed, running his hand possessively over Hux’s waist, skimming low enough to brush his fingers over his dick. “I didn’t realize a sense of humor could rise all the way through the ranks.”  

“I was promoted very rapidly.” He hoped Ren sensed him rolling his eyes. 

With a blissful lack of preamble, Ren pressed two slicked fingers inside. Hux sucked in a breath as the slight edge of discomfort made him even harder. He felt pinned by Ren’s weight as he loomed over him, working his fingers while sliding his cock between Hux’s legs. It was so close to what he wanted but not enough. Hux could still think about all the ways the night had frayed into a disaster. Ren withdrew completely, leaving Hux to shiver under the air vent and listen to Ren fiddling with the lube again. After too long, Ren’s hands were back on Hux’s waist and the thick head of his cock nudging at his hole. Ren pushed in slowly, but at his size, making it painless was impossible. Hux loved every second. 

“You bastard,” Hux gasped as Ren went all the way in. “You absolute bastard.”

“I can stop. Mind the vent; the noise carries.”

Ren started to move, with relaxed, shallow thrusts. He dragged his hand up Hux’s chest, rucking up his undershirt until all Hux had was a narrow band of fabric to cover himself. Hux felt miserably exposed to Ren, who kept touching him everywhere with those hands that made him feel small, licking and nipping at the bared flesh of his nape and shoulders.

“You have so much anger and fear,” said Ren, “and the only thing that makes you feel in control is to feed them."

“Do you psychoanalyze everyone you sleep with?”

“Just you,” Ren replied, with a rough snap of his hips that made Hux choke off a shout. Hux’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the cabinet, his thoughts finally narrowing down to the sharp pleasure of being filled up and fucked.

But then Hux’s damn comlink went off in the tunic he’d thrown out of his reach. Ren paused, then stretched out his arm and the comlink went flying into his hand. Hux would’ve jumped if he didn’t have the Senator draped over him. Ren handed over the comlink, looking very pleased with himself.

“Endor’s moon,” Hux mumbled, double-checking that the comlink was set to ‘audio only.’ “Please don’t make a sound. Or move.” He pressed receive. “Come in.”

“Evening, sir,” Mitaka said. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s been three hours.”

“Negotiations take time, Lieutenant.”

“I hope they’re going well, sir.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hux saw Ren smirking. “The Senator is receptive,” Hux said.

“Excellent. Interior Affairs just called over the comm, asking when you would be returning.”

Again, Mitaka was playing messenger boy for veiled threats. He wondered if Mitaka even noticed. “When I’m done with Kylo Ren.” The man currently disobeying Hux’s command by idly tracing the bones in his shoulder.

“I’ll inform them right away.”

“I have a message for you to add on. Ready to copy, because I want this verbatim.” He waited for Mitaka to fetch his datapad. “To the Director of Interior Affairs: This became a military matter as soon as I received the assignment. As such, my actions are outside of your domain and you are to keep your political pissing contest where it belongs, in your dreary little building and out of my hearing. Do you have that down exactly, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir,” Mitaka replied, sounding wretched.

“Good. Do not contact me again unless it’s an absolute emergency. Out.” Hux ended the call and tossed the comlink to the ground.

Before Hux could say anything, Ren was tangling his fingers in Hux’s hair, turning his head to bring their lips together. Ren was aggressive this time, cupping Hux’s face with one hand and stroking his cock with the other. Well, Ren wasn’t the first person to get off on Hux giving orders. Ren slid his thigh beneath Hux’s to push him upwards, rocking him forward on the balls of his feet with each thrust. The only thing keeping Hux from moaning was the fact that Ren was still kissing him, sloppily and like he wanted to take even more from Hux than he already had. Ren kept treating Hux on just the right side of rough, his grip on his hair tightening as he released Hux’s mouth and bit down on his shoulder.

“Fucking beast,” Hux cursed, feeling every tooth. He couldn’t last after that, coming into Ren’s hand.

His tone perfectly unaffected, Ren said, “Hold still.”

Ren moved his soiled hand onto Hux’s hip and yanked his head back, his mouth gentle as he kissed a line from beneath Hux’s ear to the base of his neck even as he increased the pace. Hux was too sensitive now, his heartbeat starfighter-quick against Ren’s lips. Ren finally groaned and stilled, thrusting one last time as Hux felt the unpleasant drip of come down his inner thigh.

Abruptly, Hux was aware he had his breeches around his ankles, a Rebel senator’s softening dick up his ass, and a vent blasting icy air down his exposed chest, all without the distraction of an erection. “Get off me,” Hux said. Ren did as he was told, freeing Hux to pull his shirt down and try to clean himself up. He was spitefully thinking of using part of Ren’s robe when Ren opened another cabinet drawer and handed over some refresher wipes.

It didn’t take long for Hux to put himself back into a degree of respectability. Ren looked perfectly serene, his hands clasped underneath his sleeves. Since he was already at the bar, Hux poured himself two fingers of whisky.

“Do you drink, Ren?”

“No.”

“Thought not.” Probably something to do with the Force. Hux took a few swallows while doing up the last few buttons of his tunic with his free hand.

“You’re in danger back home, aren’t you?”

“Organizational infighting. I imagine you know all about that sort of thing.”

“I do.” Ren touched Hux’s arm, an inappropriately intimate gesture now. “You look tired, General. You can rest a few hours at my apartment, if you need it.”    

* * *

Ren’s penthouse had an administrative blankness to it. There was hardly any furniture, and almost everything was in shades of black and gray. If it weren’t for the windows overlooking the city, Hux could have believed himself back on the _Finalizer_.

“I almost never bring people here,” said Ren. “Including myself. Help yourself to whatever you want; I keep no secrets at home.”

To his surprise, Ren left Hux on his own so he could use the refresher. It seemed calculated to give Hux time to consider his situation, but he was grateful for the solitude nonetheless.  Hux went to stand by one of the floor-length windows, where the view of Republic City from above was more meditative than enraging.  

He’d let his frustration with the First Order’s newest crop of bureaucrats get away with him. Interior Affairs and its satellites like the Ministry for the Protection of Families certainly had their uses. They kept him supplied with stormtroopers, maintained loyalty amongst the people, and Hux had no desire to go back to the inefficient nightmare of martial law. But they had overstepped by treating Hux like an errand boy who needed guiding. Only Hux’s true peers—his fellow officers, the people who made the First Order what it was—believed in him. The whole system suffered without a single, strong person at its head. That was why the First Order needed an emperor.

Alone, the apartment was disquieting. Hux didn’t believe in haunted places, ever since his father had taken him to Korriban as a boy. Standing bored beside the empty tombs was one of his oldest memories. But the hackles on the back of his neck kept rising whenever he looked to the hallway on his right, as if something awful lurked there.

When Ren came back out, he was wearing a bathrobe which barely reached mid-thigh. He joined Hux at the window, smugly aware that Hux was eyeing everything he hadn’t seen earlier that evening.

“We should talk about how you fetched my comlink,” Hux said, refusing to be distracted by Ren’s pretense of an outfit and the fact that he’d blow-dried his hair.  

“That was nice of me.”   

“And read my mind,” Hux added.

Ren crossed his arms, defensive for the first time. “I wouldn’t trust you if I hadn’t. I never looked deeply; you’d have felt it.”

As unsettling as it was to think of Ren riffling through his head, the potential usefulness of his ability was staggering. “Your Force abilities aren’t weak. Why show me, when you’ve lied about them to the Senate?”

“Because I trust you.”

Trust was rare in Hux’s world. He never fully trusted anyone, and now Ren kept offering it up, like he thought it was something Hux would want. Ren had probably learned more about Hux overnight than his closest friends knew after years. It was unfair. Hux should walk away, but Ren kept dangling that appalling trust in front of him, and he was starved for it.  

“Are you a Sith?” Hux asked, trying to find his footing again. “Is that how you’ve kept yourself a secret?”

“I like how you started with that, instead of asking me if I killed Skywalker’s students. I am no more a Sith than you are an Imperial. They are dead movements.” Ren drew close to Hux again, as if he could never leave any space between them, and whispered, “I need the war you’re planning. Give it to me, and I’ll see you made Emperor.”

It was a madman’s offer. There were only two of them, after all. But history had always reshaped itself around the great—why couldn’t the next shapers be him and Ren? Saying “yes” to Ren felt too simple. Hux kissed him instead. Ren indulged him, wrapping his arms around Hux with that deceptive delicacy he sometimes had. It probably wasn’t how Palpatine and Vader had sealed their loyalty, but they were, ultimately, failures.

Ren broke the kiss, holding one finger to Hux’s lips as he said, “I want to take you to bed with me.”

Hux had already stayed longer than he should. He followed Ren to the bedroom, in the opposite direction of the strangely dreadful hallway. A few muted lights turned on automatically, illuminating the oversized bed and little else. They didn’t even make it to the bed before Ren’s hands were at the buttons of Hux’s tunic.

“It wouldn’t be fair to undress me again while staying clothed yourself,” Hux said, catching Ren’s wrists.

With a shrug, Ren untied his robe and let it slip to the floor. “Enjoy.” His legs looked even longer without anything on, and he had the sort of body Hux couldn’t achieve without relocating his entire life to a bench press. Ren undid Hux’s collar, nipping at the freshly uncovered hollow of his throat while working on the rest of the tunic’s buttons.

“You’re fascinated by my uniform, aren’t you?”

“The New Republic has no military.” Ren was much quicker with Hux’s clothes this time, using the Force as much as his fingers. “I’ve never met a soldier before.”

“I’ve never met a politician,” Hux replied, wriggling out of his undershirt after Ren slid the tunic off his shoulders.

“You’ll be disappointed if you expect any of the others to resemble me.” Ren’s eyes focused on the quadanium identitags Hux wore around his neck. Holding them between his fingers, he said, “I wondered about these.”

“They’re for identification.” Pushing Ren the last few steps to the bed, Hux settled on top of him, enjoying looking down at him for once. “DNA typing doesn’t work very well when it’s been torpedoed.”

“Really,” Ren replied, slipping his fingers back under the identitags, nails blunt against Hux’s skin. “I like you more than I expected to. None of this was planned.”

Trying not to smile, Hux asked, “Offering to take over the galaxy with me, or having sex?”

“Neither. I thought you were only a fanatic with a tailored coat who could roll his R’s.”

“I’m every one of those things.” Hux made an extra effort to draw out the R.

“You’re also ambitious,” said Ren, moving his hands down to Hux’s waist, where he seemed to prefer them, “under the coat and the sneer. But it must for hard for someone like you, in the First Order.”

Of course Ren couldn’t resist a moment of Republican condescension. “They always have a way to get a hold over you. If it weren’t who I wanted to fuck,” Hux replied with a sigh, leaning down until they were close enough to kiss, “it would be something else.” He pressed his mouth to Ren’s, savoring how soft his lips were before exploring the rest of him. It was too comfortable to have Ren on the bed; an invitation to waste time, really. Hux licked a line down Ren’s neck on his way to bite the thick muscle of his shoulder, digging his nails into his waist. Ren groaned and thrust against him, making Hux wish he’d bothered to take his breeches off but only a fire alarm could get him off Ren right now.

Some of Ren’s hair had fallen over his eyes, so Hux reached up to tuck it out of the way. On impulse, he traced Ren’s lips with his fingers, then pushed. Ren opened his mouth, licking at Hux’s fingers with obscene relish before taking them down to the knuckle. Attractive as the performance was, Hux wondered if he could make Ren drop it. Removing his fingers, he slid them between Ren’s thighs, giving him a few moments to protest. Ren spread his legs, biting his lip as Hux copied his earlier move and pushed in two fingers. Hux changed his position so he could prop up Ren’s thighs with his own, keeping Ren exposed. 

“You look like you want to devour me,” Ren said.

“You would know.”

He sucked a bruise high up on Ren’s neck, where people would have to see it. Ren’s response was to run his hands through Hux’s hair, pressing on the back of his neck for more. Needing somewhere more sensitive, Hux lowered his head to drag his tongue over Ren’s nipple as he arched his fingers inside him, making Ren gasp and squirm against him every time Hux moved. It had been too long since Hux had been with anyone fit, and he almost wanted to gratefully rub his face against Ren’s chest. He could probably get off just by sliding his dick between Ren’s pectorals.

Hux was uncomfortably hard in his briefs. Irritably, he used his free hand to unbutton his breeches and ease some of the pressure, earning a curious stare from Ren. Neither of them had gotten a good look at each other at the opera, though Ren had mapped out Hux’s body with his hands. “Take everything off,” Ren said.

Reluctant as he was to get up, Hux moved aside so he could remove his boots and shove his breeches down with a speed he hadn’t had since his teens. Ren barely even gave Hux that much time before he was pulling Hux back on top of him.

“Do you have anything in here?” Hux asked, worried that Ren might be the statistical freak who never wanked before bed.

With a nod, Ren held out his arm and crooked one finger, opening the dresser drawer. Hux was just able to reach inside and feel around for something bottle-like. Reading the label, which featured a leering Grand Admiral and a horrible pun, Hux said, “Oh, you definitely weren’t intending to bring me here.”

“Are your brands not Republic-themed?” Ren asked, raising one eyebrow.   

“We have,” Hux replied, slicking up his fingers, “a standard issue, medical grade lubricant called Slick-X. We pretend no one has fun with it.”

As Hux pressed three fingers inside him, Ren exhaled, canting his hips for a better angle. “Sounds dire.”

To hold off the ideological debate Ren was probably putting together, Hux adjusted his position, practically lying between Ren’s legs so he could finally wrap his tongue around Ren’s oversized cock. Ren moaned and put his legs over Hux’s shoulders, which was all the encouragement Hux needed to take the first few centimeters into his mouth as he kept fucking Ren with his fingers. He was so big that Hux knew his jaw would ache almost as badly as his ass already did, a reminder that would follow him back to the shuttle. Blushing, Hux opened his mouth wider, letting Ren’s dick hit the back of his throat. Ren swore, yanking hard on Hux’s hair and rubbing his thumb over Hux’s cheek.

“I’ll never be able to indifferently watch one of your holos again,” Ren murmured, thrusting into Hux’s mouth. “I need you to fuck me now or I’m coming down your throat.”

Attractive as the second option was, that could be saved for another time. Hux pulled off and withdrew his fingers. “Any preference?” Hux asked.

Ren patted one of the pillows next to him. “Your lap. I want to see your face.”

“So you can compare it to the holos?”

“I’ll need something when you’re away,” Ren replied, kissing where Hux’s cheek was flushed.

Hux distracted himself from Ren’s nonsense by fastidiously rearranging the pillows against the headboard. As soon as Hux sat back, Ren settled over him, pleasingly heavy. Hux couldn’t resist crushing his mouth to Ren’s, biting his lower lip when he felt Ren’s lubricated hand on his cock. Then Ren was lowering himself onto Hux, his thighs straining as he did it with the same slowness as when he’d entered him.

“Not calling me a bastard this time?” Ren said.

“Only if you don’t move,” Hux replied, pinching Ren’s nipple. Ren twisted the chain of Hux’s identitags around his knuckles and tugged, making Hux choose between tilting his head up or being choked. Hux grasped Ren by his hips and ground into him, tucking his face underneath Ren’s neck as Ren began to ride him. Ren reached down to stroke himself, tightening his grip on the identitags until his knuckles were pressing against the most vulnerable part of his throat. They were both gasping with effort. Hux couldn’t even get enough air to warn Ren that he was about to come.

“Don’t come yet,” Ren said, the words landing like sparks inside Hux’s head. His orgasm kept building to a painful peak without any relief, and he could almost cry with frustration. “Hux, please, I’m close, just a little more,” Ren pleaded, before Hux felt his warm release over his chest. Hux came a second after, finishing harder than he ever had in his life.

“Nerf-loving Rebel scum,” Hux muttered, trying to get his thoughts together. “That’s not what the Force is for.”

“Celibacy was one of the Jedi’s most senseless traditions,” Ren replied, getting off Hux and haughtily stretching out on the bed.

Eyeing the mess Ren had left on his stomach, Hux said, “I need to sleep for a year.”

“Sleep here.”

Hux sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Fine. I’m using your refresher.”

Ren waved his hand. “It’s to your left.”

The carpet felt needlessly plush under Hux’s feet as he made his way through Ren’s dark cave of a room. His thigh muscles were already starting to smart, and a quick check in the mirror revealed a red line around Hux’s neck that would fortunately be hidden by his collar. Hux was too old for this. He rested his forehead against the cool tile of the shower as he tried to decipher the different setting symbols. Deciding on the one that looked like a person getting fragged, Hux let the severe waste of water resources pummel his sore body while he washed away all the evidence. The shower blasted him with hot air when he shut the water off, which was an entirely useless invention when towels existed.

Ren was nestled under the sheets when Hux came back out, his fingers skimming over his datapad. “I won’t propose the relaxation of trade sanctions,” Ren said, putting the datapad aside. “Make Senator Deen introduce it. I’ll ensure it passes without branding me as a sympathizer. Deen’s credibility will be spent, but he’s close to declaring bankruptcy and you’ve already bled him dry.”

“Why are you certain Deen’s one of ours?”

“Because he thinks about the Order during committee meetings, and I’ve had access to his bank statements for months. He’s spent a fortune on you.”

Ren’s bureaucratic patter had a soothing familiarity to it, minus the mindreading. Hux joined him in bed, counting off the years since he’d spent the night with someone. Before his latest promotion would make it at least four. He’d never particularly liked it, but he also rarely liked the people he had sex with. At least Ren didn’t rush to snuggle him.

“Deen’s a good man,” Hux said, relaxing despite himself. “We didn’t realize he was having financial trouble.”

Turning onto his side, Hux faced the doorway out of habit. Ren rested his hand on Hux’s waist. “A mix of blackmail and being a poor sabacc player.”

Hux was considering whether or not he wanted to push Ren’s warm hand off when he fell asleep.

* * *

Nightmares rarely happened to Hux. They were usually mundane, too. He’d go to the bridge and realize he wasn’t wearing breeches. Or he’d be back in the cantina, twenty years old and stupid, his hands cuffed while he contemplated the black mark of a family offense following his career forever because some self-important peace officer didn’t care who Hux’s father was. After he found out, his father had the man transferred to security on a mining planet.

This nightmare was new. Something unbearably weighty was sitting on his chest, a grey shadow-creature with a slash for a mouth and two pinpricks of light in its deep-set eyes. Hux tried to shove it off of him, but it only got heavier.  Hands stroked Hux’s face, large, soft hands which Hux realized were Ren’s. “Let me in,” Ren whispered, “let me in.”

Hux woke up with a start. The monstrous weight was Ren’s; in his sleep, he’d thrown a leg over Hux and clutched him to his chest. Heart racing and covered in sweat, Hux pushed Ren off. Ren stirred and opened one eye.

“Bad dream?” Ren asked.

“Your overdeveloped chest made me think I was being crushed to death.”

“I’ll have to stop working out.”

“Don’t you dare.” Hux looked around for a clock. “What time is it?

Ren fumbled around for his datapad and thumbed it on. “It’s seven in the morning.”

Hux started getting out of bed at the word ‘seven’ and had found his uniform by ‘morning.’ He could be out of Ren’s apartment within twenty minutes. His comlink showed no new messages, which spoke well of Mitaka’s ability to follow orders. 

“I’ll have my droid make breakfast,” Ren called out after Hux ducked back into the refresher.

Hux considered his cover story while he tried to decipher the complicated code of Republican grooming products. Why did everything have to be named after aliens? ‘Sullustan Shine’ was, judging by the smell, aftershave. ‘Zabrak Zing’ was soap, and ‘Cerean Serenity’ was hair product. Cereans barely even had hair.

He would report that last night, Ren had dragged him to a painfully boring opera recital. That was true. Afterwards, Ren took Hux to some sort of debauched Republican party, where he continued to prevaricate over whether or not he was willing to help the First Order, and asked for a truly staggering amount of bribes. However, Hux persisted in his mission, getting valuable information from Ren and promises of future cooperation. No one would completely believe the story, but neither would they know what Hux had actually done, and what mattered was that he had achieved Ren’s support, for free.

By the time Hux had made himself the image of a proper First Order officer and went to the kitchen, the droid had set out food for five. There was a lavish array of pastries and various meats, fruits, and cheeses, leading Hux to wonder what exactly the Core worlds thought breakfast was supposed to be.

“I wasn’t sure what you normally ate, so I had him get everything,” Ren said, slipping a piece of livid orange fruit in his mouth. He was leaning against the kitchen island, almost conservatively dressed in a navy tunic and trousers that didn’t have a trace of gold beading.

“Is that a modified assassin droid?” Hux asked.

“Evasion: I have not committed violence in twenty-six cycles,” the droid stated. “Reassurance: you are completely safe with me.”  

Ren shrugged. “The HKs have a good look to them. Their programming is nearly flexible.”

The assassin droid pushed a cup of caf over to Hux as he took a seat. Hux sipped at the caf and politely selected a single pastry. The impact of everything he’d done with Ren was something he could only process slowly, with mounting nerves. He’d suspect Ren of toying with his head, if it hadn’t felt so distinctive when Ren had used a mind trick on him during sex.

Fucking hell. At least the pastry tasted good. Hux would still have his position when he returned to the First Order. Ren could read the mind of every senator in the New Republic, and wanted to make Hux an emperor. Also, he was probably a murderer and definitely mentally unstable. Hux rather liked him.

This was manageable, somehow.

“Tell me about the Starkiller,” Ren asked.  

Stiffening, Hux replied, “Don’t you already know?”

“Not in the detail I want. You’re in charge of it, aren’t you?”

Ren could probably sense Hux’s surge of pride. The Starkiller project would be his legacy even if he died tomorrow.

“That’s a lot to ask of me,” Hux said. Ren looked disappointed, and Hux was reminded that Ren had already revealed so much about himself. It was safer for Ren, though; no one would believe Hux if he reported Ren to the authorities. Telling Ren anything about the First Order’s real plans, on the other hand, meant life or death. “After the trade sanctions are relaxed.”

“I won’t force it out of you,” said Ren, anticipating Hux’s unspoken worry. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Here?”

“Through a holoprojector. It’s down the hall.”

Down the hallway that had Hux shivering like a superstitious child.  “Your master.”

Ren smiled. “Come with me. I know you can’t stay much longer.”

Hux fought back the irrational urge to say no. He followed Ren, puzzling over how the air seemed to get more oppressive. Ren’s energy was high, and he kept looking at Hux out of the corner of his eye to make sure he was behind him. It was like Ren shifted into another person, straining towards something far away.

He opened to a door empty of everything but a holoprojector. It was a large room; easily the biggest in the apartment. The ghastly aura was so thick, it was like being crushed under it. Hux could think of nothing to compare it to, except the terror he’d felt when he learned that his father had died. “Ren,” Hux said, embarrassed by how pathetic he sounded.

Ren put his hand on Hux’s shoulder, leaning into him. “There’s nothing to fear from him. You have shared interests.”

“What shared interests?”

Turning on the holoprojector, Ren replied, “Restoring order to the galaxy.”

The image flickered at first, showing nothing only noise and splotches of black and gray. But soon, there was a great pale face looking down at Hux.

“General,” said the figure, “I believe we will be of great help to each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suz has kindly, beautifully illustrated the paparazzo’s shot of Hux and Ren in the speeder of gay love [here](http://suzannart.tumblr.com/post/142911492172/ren-reached-out-to-check-that-hux-had-buckled), and you can find out about the origin of Ren’s least favorite journalist, Intwing Sluice the Chadra-fan [here](http://sathinfection.tumblr.com/post/143462122198/valinwhore-do-not-feed-the-senators-ego-but). UPDATE: holy shit Suz has since done a way 2 hot for work and 2 hot for life illustration of the second sex scene [here](https://suzannartafterdark.tumblr.com/post/144768528655/dont-come-yet-ren-said-the-words-landing-like).
> 
> If you were wondering, the punny lube title was "Grand Assmiral." And if you noticed that Hux sounds British but uses a weird mix of American and British language, yes. I blame the canon.
> 
> How did Ren get an HK-47 assassin droid from the Knights of the Old Republic series to serve him breakfast? Well. Um. He found it!


	2. trust in democracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILER FOR CLAUDIA GRAY’S _BLOODLINE_ – Leia’s true parentage was revealed to the Senate when Ben was 23 and still training with Luke. This fic relies on that bit of canon. Additionally, the Populists (people favoring more planetary independence) and the Centrists (stronger, centralized government) are also from _Bloodline_.

Snoke’s forgiveness was a privilege. He was generous with his forgiveness, endlessly patient with Kylo’s weaknesses. When Kylo was punished, it was because he wished to be.

As he was punishing himself now. For hours, he had kneeled in front of Snoke, hands on his thighs, his head downcast. He could not look Snoke in the face until he knew he had truly earned Snoke’s indulgence. Their plan for General Hux had been simple. Kylo would pull everything Hux knew about the Starkiller from his mind, then erase his memory of the invasion. That was not what happened.  

Time had made the hard floor of Snoke’s ship feel like a lance entering his knees. His lower back hurt so badly, he was sweating. Kylo’s first opportunity with Hux had been in the opera house. He had planted sound dampeners in the lobby in case Hux screamed while Kylo ripped out the Starkiller plans. Hux’s thoughts were full of so much anger, sparing no one and nothing. He wanted to strangle the whole galaxy, if only someone would let him. Being near him was like a feast.

The next chance had been in his apartment. Kylo could still have obeyed. Instead, he kept playing for more time. A highly-placed ally in the First Order would allow him to do much more than mere information could. He knew what he needed to offer Hux to secure his loyalty, even if trust would be much harder. But Kylo feared his judgment was flawed, influenced too much by his own desires.

“Come, Kylo Ren,” said Snoke. “You have reflected enough.”

He allowed himself to look up, into Snoke’s kind eyes. Snoke beckoned him forward. It had been too long since he had gone to Snoke in person, burdened as he was with manipulating the Senate. Politics moved so slowly that even his successes felt like defeats. Kylo shifted, his aching body slow to obey him. He dragged himself forward by his hands and rested his head against Snoke’s knee.

“You did well.” Snoke’s withered fingers, inhumanly long, were cool as he stroked Kylo’s hair. “General Hux could advance our plans by many years.”

“He fascinates me,” Kylo confessed. “What if I become attached?”

“You have shed attachments before. If I say you are loyal, you are loyal.”

Pressing his cheek against Snoke’s knee, Kylo told himself that only Snoke’s judgments mattered. That Kylo struggled with the light did not matter, because Snoke said he was his. He had no attachments, but to Snoke.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

Snoke withdrew his hand. “Now, return to the Senate.”

“As you wish.”

Kylo rose, giving Snoke one final bow. He swayed on his feet as he walked out, unsteady as a drunk. Snoke’s ship was small; it only had to be large enough for him and the arcane mechanics keeping him alive. There were two Force sensitives floating comatose in bacta tanks. Retired Inquisitors, they had been mistaken to think they had survived the Empire’s end. Snoke would harvest their midi-chlorians soon, staving off his wrongful death yet again.

Snoke’s medical droid, 11-4D, appeared behind Kylo when he stumbled into an empty bacta tank. “Sir,” 11-4D said, “you are in a great deal of physical pain. Allow me to deliver an anesthetic.”

“Fine. I need a stim, too.”

“I can recommend a range of sedatives if you are having trouble sleeping, sir.”

Kylo shook his head. 11-4D delivered two shots to Kylo’s arm. The first made Kylo’s lower body pleasantly numb, and the second cleared the fog in his mind. He normally avoided any sort of drug, because what the dark side did not provide, he should not need. But Senator Deen was scheduled to introduce a motion to reduce sanctions on exports of necessary goods to First Order-controlled worlds in less than six hours.

Back in his shuttle, Kylo set the navicomputer to plot the jump to Hosnian Prime. He would have just enough time to work on his speech before landing. Hux had not contacted him since he left three days ago, but communications were always unreliable between the Core and the Unknown Regions. They were disconnected from the HoloNet, reliant on a few private, pre-Empire hyperwave transceivers to relay signals back and forth. Hopefully, Hux would be able to watch him address the Senate, even if it was on a delay.

* * *

His assistant, Garrota, was waiting for him on the landing dock. A Twi’lek, she had styled her lekku carefully, wrapping one around her neck and decorating the other with a jeweled cuff. Ever since Kylo had freed her from being a backwater Cartel slave, Garrota was one of the few to know of his abilities. Datapad in her hands, Garrota dipped her head in greeting.

“Good to see you back, sir,” she said. “Nothing went to hell while you were gone.”

“That’s strange. Was the Senate dissolved?”

“Unfortunately not.” Garrota handed over the datapad. “Your speeder’s outside, and I arranged to have a new outfit delivered to the lobby of your pod.”

“Thank you.”

Kylo read through his e-mails while Garrota drove the speeder. She obeyed traffic laws, but just barely. There were minutes from a committee meeting he had missed, and a number of appointment requests. An Aqualish lobbyist wanted him to add a rider to a tax bill. Thoughtfully, Garrota had put a message from Han Solo directly into the trash folder. The low priority e-mails were mostly from the press. Kylo deleted them unread.

“Has anyone acknowledged what Leia Organa’s doing with the Resistance yet?” Kylo asked.

Garrota shook her head. “Poe Dameron finally got a slap on the wrist for ‘desertion,’ but that’s all.”

“How decisive. Any speculation on my meeting with General Hux?”

“That silly holo a reporter snapped of you feeling up Mr. First Order kept people from taking it too seriously.” 

“I wasn’t feeling him up.” At that point.

“No, he’s not your type at all,” Garrota replied with a smirk. “The Senate is waiting for you to talk about him, and disappointed it’s Deen bringing up the sanctions instead.”

“I’ll give them what they want.”

“I’m sure you will.”

They pulled into the Senatorial complex with an hour left. It was barely enough time for a senator of Naboo to prepare, let alone a member of House Naberrie, so Kylo pulled Garrota onto the moving sidewalk with him. No one recognized him in his plain clothes. Height and a distinctive face meant nothing when someone was only known for finery.

When they reached the Senate chamber proper, they immediately went to the lobby of his repulsorpod. Fifty minutes left. Kylo stripped while Garrota fetched his latest robe of state. “Oof,” Garrota grunted as she held what seemed to be twenty kilos of fabric.

Impatient, Kylo used the Force to float the robe in the air. Garrota lost not a second in helping Kylo with the various parts—five, not including the chest-piece—and making sure everything fit properly. Naboo was known for its elaborate fashion, and Kylo could never fail to deliver it. He had found it uncomfortable when he first went from the simple clothes of a Jedi Padawan to the regalia of a noble. Like he was hiding his true self in yet another costume. He appreciated it now, the distance granted by the façade of a prince of the Elder Houses. Kylo should not have dropped it so quickly with Hux, just because he could.

He sat down for the next step. Garrota grumbled about not having time to wash his hair as she did her best to quickly style it. When she had been enslaved to a Hutt, keeping the other women beautiful had been her primary responsibility. She started applying his make-up while Kylo closed his eyes and went over his speech. Her hands were so gentle that Kylo worried about falling asleep, stim or no stim. Kylo must discipline himself into keeping better hours. He kept still as he felt the eyeliner’s tip tugging at his lids.

“Now open,” Garrota said. She peered closely at his pupils, frowning. “You took a stim.”

“It’s wearing off.”

Garrota was thinking about where Kylo must have been. She believed Snoke was doing something awful to him, instead of keeping him on the right path. Kylo had no reason to explain who Snoke really was to her. Holding him by the chin, Garrota used a brush to put on the lipstick, filling in his upper lip but only doing a narrow strip on the lower one, just beneath the philtrum.

“Done,” Garrota announced. “And with five minutes left for you to get into your seat.”

Kylo entered the pod on his own. Naboo’s junior senator had developed an unexplained phobia of public appearances, and voted with Kylo from his office. Taking his seat, he carefully arranged his robe for the best impression. A holorecorder droid floated towards him, scanning him for the HoloNet. The moderator droid announced that Senator Deen of Arkanis had the floor.

Deen was nervous. With the increasing prominence of the First Order, Deen and his fellow Centrists had tried to distance themselves from showing any sympathy for remnants of the Empire. By requesting a partial repeal of trade sanctions, Deen’s own party would withdraw its support of him. He would certainly lose his seat at the next election.

“My fellow beings,” Deen began, already bungling it. “I propose that we relax the sanctions which have caused widespread starvation and suffering in First Order space. By refusing to export basic necessities such as food and building material, we are restricting free trade and discouraging these worlds from ever joining the Republic.”

“So you want to fund terror?” called out a Corellian senator.

“Nothing of the sort!” Deen replied, slamming his fist on the pod’s rim as the Senate erupted into argument. “This is about common decency!”

Kylo let Deen dig himself in a little deeper before he rose to his feet. As the moderator droid announced that the Senate recognized Kylo Ren, the chamber quieted. After all, Senator Ren had been the one to meet with a First Order general.

“As many of you are aware, I met with General Hux three days ago,” Kylo said. “It is a sign of the First Order’s desperation that they were willing to send one of its most powerful members to lobby for a single friendly ear. Hux confirmed all my worst prejudices about the First Order. He was a fearful, fanatical shadow of a person clinging so fiercely to the memory of the Empire that he was ignorant of everything else. The First Order molds everyone within it, without any mercy or respect. It has taken the Empire’s humanocentric prejudices and magnified them. When that alone did not serve to keep its people afraid of their own government, entirely new bigotries were invented to serve its needs. All beings who do not fit the First Order’s narrow definition of a good citizen bring harsh punishments down upon their heads. Believe me when I say that I hate the First Order and all it stands for.”

There was a well of resentment in Hux from hundreds of slights and blocked paths. The brief taste of remembered soap in his mouth, when Kylo kissed him for the first time. Who would he have become without the First Order trying to shape him into what he was not? Perhaps no one important, like Leia and Han’s child had been. 

“I would like the Senate to consider why these sanctions exist,” Kylo continued, holding out his arms. “The Senate’s first move after learning of the First Order’s influence in the Unknown Regions was to restrict shipping in the Outer Rim. My own planet of Naboo, in addition to suffering the indignity of hosting an external peacekeeping force, as if we had not already had our fill of conflict in the Clone Wars, is now subject to increasing oversight from the Senate. And what does the New Republic gain from this? Only moral superiority.”

Kylo paused, listening to the murmurs of agreement from the Outer Rim senators while the Core worlds remained grimly silent.

“Many of the First Order worlds meet the galactic standards for famine. This is a direct result of the sanctions. It is why they were passed into law. If you are consulting your datapads now, you will see that I was never a supporter of these sanctions. At the same time that we are starving the Unknown Regions, the Senate insists that the First Order presents no danger. If the First Order is toothless, why are we refusing to trade basic goods? Others have said that the sanctions keep the First Order from supporting its military. But what state has fed its people before its soldiers? It is not the military which is suffering; it is not the military which is being weakened. Either we are starving a harmless rogue state, or we are ignoring a serious threat to peace in the galaxy. If we are unwilling to go to war against the First Order, then we must lift the sanctions.

“And before I leave you to quarrel over whether or not we are legislating a drawn-out murder on a grand scale, I have more to propose.  A committee to investigate the First Order’s true level of threat must be formed. Ignoring the problem because of political deadlock, while many of the beings assembled here are supporting the paramilitary Resistance, and others the First Order, will divide this New Republic.”

As the esteemed senators erupted into argument, Kylo took his seat. Over a dozen holorecorder droids hovered around his pod, filming him pour himself some water from the carafe. Within minutes, the first news reports began showing up on his datapad. His favorite simply declared, “Kylo Ren Delivers Blistering Indictment of Senate Policy,” but “Kylo Ren Continues Padmé Amidala’s Legacy” had some appeal to it. He had done well. The First Senator was already considering forcing a vote in the afternoon.

* * *

When the Senate took its afternoon recess, Kylo broke his usual habit of meditating alone to attend Varish Vicly’s luncheon. She was one of Leia’s friends, but his stances were too frequently aligned with hers for Kylo to avoid her. And since Varish was thoroughly Leia’s creature, she would never miss the chance to spy on him, even if it came at the cost of reassuring him that Leia was not present.

Varish had rearranged the furniture in her suite of rooms to be better suited for hosting forty or so of her closest friends. Loneran extravagance was on display everywhere, from the flower arrangements to the wine fountain.  She had even put out real candles.

“Kylo Ren,” Varish announced, rushing towards him. She restrained herself from a hug, but still briefly took his hand. “Force, that speech! If you weren’t mostly on my side, I think my fur would’ve been singed off.”  

“Mostly?”

“I voted for the sanctions, as you know. But you have a point about needing to investigate the First Order seriously.”

Varish might find some objections if she realized how any impartial investigation would reveal her own involvement with the Resistance. “So you think the sanctions are working?”

“Not as we intended,” she said, furrowing her brows. “Enough politics, Kylo. Get something to eat, maybe crack a smile.”

“Will the Populists support me?” Kylo asked, affecting a wry smile.

“You put us in a spot, choosing between an investigation or keeping the sanctions.” Varish tapped her chin. “Yes. Probably. I’ll do my best, you terror. I wish you’d warned me first.”

“I was busy.”

“Of course. And you’ll never say where you disappear to for days at a time,” she replied, putting her arm in his and guiding him towards one of the buffet tables. “Was General Hux really that bad? Or was that for the news feeds?”

Kylo was starving. He reluctantly limited himself to things that were bite-sized, since as soon as Varish left, others would descend. “He’s not much of a person. No sense of humor. He spent the night worried I would ravish his First Order virtue and gaping at advertisements.”

Shaking her head, Varish said, “I can’t imagine living like that. Those poor people.”

“It is very sad.”

He needed to stop thinking of Hux. How it had felt to have his slender body beneath him, listening to the whip-fast chain of Hux’s thoughts fade to nothing but wanting him. Better, he was never afraid of anything Kylo did, not for very long. But Hux was terrified of Snoke. Kylo could fix that, given time.

Varish waved her hand in front of his face. “Kylo? You haven’t heard a thing I’ve said.”

“I’m tired, Varish. But excuse me, I have some Gran to convince.”

“So you’re leaving the Mirialans to me? Not bad.” She gave him a final squeeze on the arm before her golden fur disappeared in the crowd.

Gran were highly susceptible to mind tricks—and some of Kylo’s staunchest supporters in the Senate. Kylo closed his eyes, drawing on what little of the dark side there was in Republic City. It was still too new, too hopeful to give Kylo much. He always felt weaker here. Sensitive to old influences.

* * *

The sanctions were repealed. It made the Senate look decisive without costing much, and there were enough emendations to make it seem appropriately cautious; exports were restricted to nothing but food and necessities, with a few additions for those senators involved with more specific manufacturing. When the question arose of who should head the new Threat Assessment Committee, Kylo was the natural choice. After all, he was intimately familiar with the greatest threat to the New Republic already.

A Yinchorri female was waiting for him outside his office. She had settled her nearly three meters tall, reptilian bulk into his largest chair and crossed her powerful arms over her chest. Her armor and the empty blaster belt made her profession quite clear.

His Zeltron secretary, Sarda, was already waving his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir, but she insisted on waiting for you and I couldn’t exactly ask her to leave.”

“Senator Ren,” she said. “I have something I think you would be interested in. I’m Qathik, an independent contractor.” Her Basic was heavily accented, probably by her facial structure rather than comprehension.

“A bounty hunter.”

With a shrug, she got to her feet. “If you say so. No one died for what I’m bringing in.”

“Then I wonder how it could be so important.” Kylo gestured for her to go ahead. “Sarda, bring the chair in after her. It’s the only one big enough.”

Qathik lifted the chair up in one hand. “I’ve got it.”

“So you do.” Kylo took a seat after he closed the door. “Show me,” he said.

Qathik wasted no time pulling out a holocube. “This is from the First Order. You know how peculiar they are about sex, yes? No aliens, no…” She paused to make a gesture which Kylo assumed was anal sex. Or perhaps fighting a veermok. “None of that. They keep records of all these ‘criminals,’ like in this holocube here.”

Kylo resisted leaning forward as he kept his expression disinterested. “I’m not looking to pick up men in the Unknown Regions. That cube is useless to me.”

“Even a holocube that has General Hux on it?” she replied, pressing the display button.

It was Hux’s arrest file. He looked no more than twenty, glaring outwards with a split lip and the beginning of a bruise on his cheek. Kylo had kissed him there, when he had started to blush.

Qathik deactivated the cube. “Pretty little thing when he has some blood on him. Hard to take seriously though. Twenty-five thousand credits. Holocube is completely secure—cannot be copied without master file.”

Kylo needed that holo. “What makes you think I have twenty-five thousand at hand for something with no strategic value?”

“Not in the Republic,” Qathik said. “Devastating in the First Order. There’s other records, other people on the cube. A lot of military.”

“How did you get this?”

“So you can track them down yourself? No. But I might have more to sell you later, if you give me the credits now.”

Twenty-five thousand was an outrageous sum. Yinchorri were resistant to mind tricks, leaving Kylo to rely on conventional negotiation. “Ten thousand. No one else will care enough to buy it from you.”

“You care. And I know you are good for the money. You have the love of the Banking Clan, yes?”

Qathik should not have known that. Kylo considered killing her, except it would be too difficult to hide the body. It would also kill the trail to where she was getting her information. “Twenty thousand. Who told you about the Banking Clan?”

Somehow, Qathik managed a humanoid grin. “I guessed. Your pockets are very deep, Senator. Use a credit chip; I do not like to get mixed up with banks.”

Kylo realized he had clenched his hands into fists. He forced himself to relax and yanked open one of his desk drawers, looking for a chip. It took a few seconds to transfer funds from his account to the chip while Qathik waited with a reptile expression of pleasure on her face. Outwitted by a bounty hunter. He plucked the holocube from her hand after he dropped the chip into her outstretched palm.

“Next time, we meet outside my office,” Kylo said.

Shoving the credit chip into one of the pockets of her vest, Qathik replied, “No. This is the safest place to talk to you. What is the human saying, you don’t excrete where you eat? Goodbye, Senator. You will see me again.”

He rose to escort Qathik to the door, outwardly calm. As soon as the door clicked shut, Kylo savagely punched the wall, his teeth grinding together while he repressed a shout. Knuckles throbbing, he activated his comlink. “Garrota, tail that Yinchorri female.”

“Understood, sir.”

That was the best he could do for now. He would have to interview his staff and check for traitors slipping information to his enemies. But at least he had the holocube. Sitting back down, he set the cube on the desk and pressed play.

Hux’s image reappeared. It came with a short psychological profile and list of offenses.

**GENERAL ARMITAGE HUX – 34, THREAT.**

_Illegitimate. Mother joined Rebel Alliance when Hux was 4, left him with his father, Brendol Hux. Subsequent relationship with father described by witnesses as overly close. Lack of opposite-sex parent probable contributor to development of homosexuality._

_Displays worst attributes of the military psychosis: lack of empathy, clannishness, entitlement, obsession with authority. Closely allied with General Sere and mentored by Rae Sloane. Openly contemptuous of civilian law. Single arrest with multiple charges, but ongoing history of family offenses must be assumed._

_Recorded crimes:_

  * _Soliciting a same-sex encounter_
  * _Refusing to admit guilt for above_
  * _Assaulting a peace officer by force_
  * _Assaulting a peace officer with infectious bodily fluids_



After a few moments, the holocube cut to a recording. It was Hux’s younger self again, hands cuffed and sitting on a bench with several other men. Upbeat cantina music was playing in the background. Even more than Hux’s age, it was unsettling to see him out of uniform, dressed like anyone Kylo could pass on the street. Hux was staring at the floor, his mouth set in a tense line. He looked about to cry. A police officer roughly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him upright.

“Come on, kid. Off to the station with you,” said the man.

“My father’s Brendol Hux, and he’ll have your head for this,” Hux protested, struggling against his grip. “Let me go. I’m a commissioned officer!”

The policeman hesitated and his eyes flicked towards the holorecorder. “Think he’s telling the truth?” he asked.

“I don’t care who his daddy is,” someone said.

“Fuck you!” Hux growled. He took an awkward swing at the next person to touch him, connecting with the man’s nose. As the injured officer backed away, another struck Hux across the mouth with a baton. Hux spat blood in her face. “You’d be nothing without people like me!”

The feed briefly cut out as three people tried to restrain Hux. Kylo held his breath. When the feed resumed, Hux was seated in a bright interrogation room. Blood from his lip had spattered over his white shirt. His expression balanced between fear and anger, Hux kept his back and shoulders parade-ground straight.

“All we need from you is an admission of wrongdoing,” said his off-scene interrogator. “There’s no punishment for a first offense. You watch a holo and promise not to be unpatriotic again. That’s all.”

Hux curled his lip. “And gain a permanent black mark on my record.” His insolence was interrupted by blood slowly dripping from his nose.

“Your nose is going to start swelling up if we don’t give you some ice for it.”

After wiping away the blood with the back of his hand, Hux pressed one finger to the side of his nose as he sniffled, trying to clear the congestion from being hit. “I did nothing wrong.”

“So you weren’t at the cantina to solicit sex from other men?”

“I was at the cantina.”

“But not for sex. Have a bad sense of direction, Lieutenant Hux? Bad at reading people?”

That stung. Hux quietly replied, “My father will make you regret bringing me in.”

“The military’s no longer in charge. Men like Brendol Hux can’t get away with letting their psychotic little sons do as they please anymore.”

Kylo was consumed by the thought of licking the blood off Hux’s lip. So vulnerable, laid open by someone else’s hand. He imagined pulling Hux forward by his stained shirt, forcing his mouth over his and deepening the cut with his teeth. It was how Hux would want it; every time Kylo used his strength on him, had given him the slightest pain, Hux responded like it was a caress.

“What are you going to do after your father dies?” asked the interrogator.  “He can’t protect you forever.”

Hux considered the question. His earlier fear had drained out of him as he looked at his interrogator with contempt. “I’ll be the one giving you orders,” he said.

“End of record,” announced a robotic voice from the holo. Hux was gone, replaced by the file on General Sere.

Kylo shut down the holocube and closed his fingers around it. So small, and yet capable of destroying Hux’s reputation in the wrong hands. He had likely watched Hux’s most humiliating memory, of being helpless and calling on his father like a talisman. As for Hux’s last words, Kylo knew how it felt to crave that sort of strength. Craving power, scrabbling for it, could keep terror at bay. Republics and Empires rose and fell because people thought they could become powerful enough to end all their fears. Snoke saw the pattern so clearly, and how to finally break it.  

The holocube would make an excellent gift for Hux the next time they met.

* * *

Hours of appointments separated Kylo from returning to his restfully dark apartment. He went through them like a sleepwalker. His attention kept turning back to the customized comm unit he had put in one of the pockets of his robe. It was one of a matched set, a type favored by smugglers and spies, which could only send and receive messages with its twin. Hux had the other one.

The comm finally went off after sunset, just as Kylo was getting ready to leave. He pulled it out and watched the receiving light blink. Downloading the message took several minutes, tempting Kylo to propose expanding the HoloNet into the Unknown Regions. As soon as the download completed, Kylo activated the comm.

Its image quality was terrible, grainy and tinged blue by the older hyperwave relays it had bounced through. Hux was shown from the waist up, his hands clasped behind his back. The officer’s disc on his hat was barely visible.

“Senator,” Hux said coldly. “I would have contacted you earlier, but things have become complicated here. We had a high profile disappearance, and your choice of diplomat set off an old power struggle. I plan to come out on top.”

Hux had so much control now. Kylo had admired it before, enjoyed picking at its seams, but seeing how deeply Hux had changed was enthralling.

“Congratulations on your success with the Senate. The repeal of the sanctions will prove invaluable in the future. I was quite impressed with your speech, other than the section insulting me. I thought it unnecessary, but I’m no politician. You’ve certainly positioned yourself very well. I’m not sure I would’ve had the balls to lie like that in front of trillions.”

Kylo smiled. Hux tilted his head, listening to something outside before he continued.

“My schedule makes it extremely difficult to see you again.” A frown flashed across his face, quick enough that Kylo had to rewind the holo to be certain he had seen it. “I’ll be in Rattatak two weeks from now, if I’m not assassinated. It’s a chaotic little planet, which should please you to visit. If you can, I trust you to do so discreetly. We need to plan our next move. Out.”

Rattatak was a world at the very borders of the Outer Rim, practically in the Unknown Regions. The native Rattataki were near-humans whose chief cultural pursuit was killing each other in an arena. Hux must be arranging a weapons deal or recruiting mercenaries, after he was done with his ‘complication.’ Kylo was certain it was a conflict between the military and the bureaucracy. Bureaucrats never won against soldiers, never in the open; Snoke would say it was foolish of them to show their hand instead of commanding from the shadows.

Two weeks. Kylo loathed waiting, no matter how much Snoke tried to teach him patience. But he had already labored secretly, almost completely alone, for six years. Two more weeks was nothing. He would make it nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurray, I’ve started dabbling into politics a little! Expect rotating POVs from here on out. All of the named characters are my own, except for Varish Vicly (who’s from _Bloodline_ ) and Rae Sloane (from _A New Dawn/Aftermath_ ). Garrota you may have recognized from my fic “The Claim,” where she had a rather different line of work. And joy of joys, the brilliant [Nisie](http://nisiedrawsstuff.tumblr.com) did a fantastic rendering of Garrota in the flesh [here](http://nisiedrawsstuff.tumblr.com/post/144709581212/garrota-my-favorite-character-in-sathinfections).
> 
> If you recognized the name 11-4D, yes that’s a clue.
> 
> AAHHHH my goodness Suz illustrated Hux's mugshot [here](http://suzannart.tumblr.com/post/144969671534/lieutenant-hux-20-threat-recorded-crimes) and it's all I ever wanted from Hux getting roughed up and furious and more. She's also followed up with some examples of [Senator Ren fashion](http://suzannart.tumblr.com/post/145116554447/so-here-are-some-sketches-of-my-fave-senator-ren). Middle outfit was what Ren wore to drag the Senate.
> 
> Minor edit to include some of _Aftermath: Life Debt_.


	3. report, reduce, redeem

Back on the shuttle, Hux’s life was reassembling itself into the ordinary grind of duties. Mitaka had proven himself far more capable than Hux had imagined when he, after apologizing for his failure to properly listen, handed Hux a datapad containing an exact transcript of his infuriated speech to the Director of Interior Affairs and asked if Hux wanted to make any corrections. Hux had said exactly what he wanted to say to the Director, which was why he carefully erased the whole thing.

“You did well to double-check with me, Lieutenant. I could use someone like you on my staff, if you’d like to apply for a transfer.”

It was difficult to read whether Mitaka’s tremulous look was relieved or newly fearful. “That would make me very proud, sir.”

“Good. You can fill in for my adjutant while she completes her course of reeducation. The pay is better, though it’s not a promotion.” Smiling, Hux added, “I expect you to show the same good judgment and discretion that you had last night.”

“Of course.” Mitaka saluted stiffly, boot heels clicking together before he left.  

Hux had hours to work on his report. Lying always made Hux feel exhausted and supremely annoyed. How Ren endured it in almost every facet of his life was beyond him, and he was probably lying to Hux about more than a few things as well. Ren and the awful creature he worshipped certainly had grandiose schemes, yet none of them were impossible.   

So, he had to describe Ren as harmlessly as he could. Hux had never met anyone like him, wearing only a thin veneer over how dangerous he was. That was what attracted Hux the most, how Ren promised violence and wielded powers that should have died with the Jedi. Desiring Ren would mean balancing the line between disaster and benefit. Hux pressed the keyboard display on his datapad and began drafting his report.

_Senator Ren was easily manipulated by taking advantage of his Imperial nostalgia. Although he publicly speaks out against everything Empire, he fetishizes it privately, and will reveal this fact with only slight encouragement. He sees himself as the successor to both Palpatine and his grandfather, Darth Vader. Flattering his vanity is the key to securing his cooperation in the long-term._

As he typed a thoroughly false account of his time with Ren, Hux toyed with his collar, over the raw band of skin Ren had left behind.

* * *

At the core of the First Order was a temperate planet named Miraxis. It had the advantage of sentient natives to provide menial labor and four distinct, mild seasons. None of the wildlife was particularly aggressive, either. Yet outside of the capital city of Stronghold, the planet was almost entirely unsettled. There were no mineral resources on Miraxis, so all industry had to be conducted off-world. Miraxis’s only export was questionable governance. Hux despised being on the planet, because it always meant dealing with administration. 

Stronghold’s docks were a few kilometers away from the city. Without any enemies able to make it to the Unknown Regions, and no foul weather, there were no security measures in place. The shuttle landed softly on the airstrip, in the center of a grassy field. According to protocol, the stormtroopers exited first, forming a unified line before Hux walked down the gangway. There was a light wind and he could freely breathe the air without the constant vague stuffiness of being onboard ship. Hux allowed himself a few moments to enjoy being outside, his hands clasped behind his back. Miraxis would be so much better if only no one lived on it.

It was a quick walk to the port offices, where Hux dismissed his stormtroopers and the rest of the shuttle’s crew. His brief feeling of success distracted him from immediately registering any threats. But then he saw the old man seated in the waiting room, calm and assured despite his lack of an escort. Two decades of rage seethed at the sight of the man, making Hux’s body go rigid from the strain of projecting an unemotional front.

Cast Ira-Jann, the Director of Interior Affairs, slowly rose to his feet. He was eighty-three, and for all his apparent physical frailty, had outlived both the Old Republic and the Empire.  Like an incubating virus, Ira-Jann had held forgettable administrative positions until the chaos of the First Order’s early years allowed him to flower into a social architect. Standing, Ira-Jann only came up to Hux’s chin, his near-colorless blue eyes cutting into Hux’s forced calm with their unveiled contempt.

“General Hux,” Ira-Jann said, his accent the arrogant drawl of a Corellian. It sounded infinitely better on Ren. “I’m eager to hear how your trip to Republic City went.”

“Director.” Behind his back, Hux was digging his nails into his palms.

“Did you secure Senator Ren’s cooperation?”

“With caveats.” Hux allowed himself a smirk as he said, “He still doesn’t want to talk to any of your people.”

“Ah yes, your type does have that unfortunate tendency to exclude others.” Ira-Jann always played the role of the compassionate, impartial observer to the variations of all humankind. “Regardless, I am not inflexible when our need is so great.”

Not so flexible that Hux couldn’t snap the old man’s neck. “That’s convenient, because Ren told me that your Senator Deen has run out of funds, and said he won’t support the Order unless you sacrifice Deen first. Ren’s instructions will be in the report I’ll send you later today. And now I must catch up on the work I missed.”

Ira-Jann had the audacity to wrap his bony hand around Hux’s arm as he turned to leave. His skin crawling under Ira-Jann’s grip, Hux froze.

With a pitying look, Ira-Jann said, “General, you have always been very casual about making enemies.”

“You never gave me any choice in the matter. Good day, Director.”

Hux yanked his arm away, and the violence in the gesture was Ira-Jann’s victory, getting that glimpse of how much Hux hated him. Discipline kept Hux walking smoothly out of Ira-Jann’s sight. After the door slid closed behind him, Hux unclasped his hands, finally allowing them to shake. It was an irritating, habitual response to stress, fear, or rage. The Director provoked all of them at once. He reminded himself that Admiral Sloane had shared the same tremble, and she’d never hidden it.

No one else demanded his attention on his way across the city. He entered his beautifully appointed office, where he could refuse to see people and even better, pour himself a drink. At four in the afternoon, it was well-overdue, though not half so fine as what Hux had had in Republic City. Leaning back in his plush leather seat, he struggled to rid the Director from his mind. Hux had a perfect memory of the day he’d become a criminal in the eyes of Ira-Jann and his cronies; he was only twelve.

Every child in the First Order went to state-run schools until the age of sixteen. So Hux filed in with all the others his age, sitting in the same cheap desks as everyone else, listening to the same incapable teachers reciting from twenty-year-old holos. He was incredibly bored in school, which combined with his last name to make him rather popular. On that particular day, Hux came in to find the walls covered in new banners, proclaiming ‘FAMILY FORWARD’ in bold lettering. The holoprojectors in the hallway, which usually gave weather reports and stock recording of Imperial glories, were instead displaying mixed-sex couples playing with their children.

“This is creepy,” said one of Hux’s friends. “Do you think it’s a glitch?”

“Probably. The teachers must’ve been here since five in the morning to get all this shit up,” Hux replied.

When they entered the classroom five minutes late, their teacher was standing in front of the class. She seemed ill somehow, and said nothing about the tardiness to Hux as he took his seat near the back of the room.

“We’re watching a holo today,” she announced without inflection, triggering cheers from the class. “Please pay careful attention as you will be filling out some data afterwards.”

The holo began playing with the sound of loud trumpets. **_FAMILY FORWARD: RESTORING THE GALAXY TO GREATNESS!_** Hux looked to his friend and made a jacking off motion.  There were the same Imperial stock images again, showing the Galactic Senate on Coruscant, people cheering for the Emperor, and TIE fighters screaming past exploding X-wings. At least the voiceover was new. 

“Children of the Empire, future of the First Order!” declared the holo. “The Empire aspired to greatness, and yet rotted from within. In its final years, the Empire grew decadent, succumbing to the internal disease of the Rebellion. What made the Empire so sick, you must ask yourselves. How can we prevent this tragedy from happening again? How will the First Order gain the strength to return the galaxy to just and proper rule?”

With a loud beep, the words **_PAUSE, AND DISCUSS AMONGST YOURSELVES_** were displayed. The teacher let it run. An old man appeared, with pale, afterburner-blue eyes.

“The First Order is still so mired in the Empire’s poisoned legacy that I doubt any of you had the right answers,” the man said. “I’m Cast Ira-Jann, your Director of Interior Affairs, and I am here to set you free of the shackles of the past. This will be a harder road for some of you to walk than others, but don’t worry: we already have everything in place to support you.”

Now the holo presented the eerie images of the smiling mixed-sex couples and their children. “Look at them,” said the voiceover. “Happy, content, safe. A man and a woman, both human, and their naturally conceived, pure human children. The family is the backbone of any state, and only with strong, natural families can we hope to regain what was lost to us. The Empire lost sight of that truth, with its permissive attitude towards same-sex unions, contraception, surrogacy, and unnatural acts with aliens.”

Some of the students started laughing. “Funny, I’d always assumed it was the armed rebellion that blew up the Death Stars,” said one.

“No, it was women doing this to each other,” a girl replied, holding two fingers up to her mouth and wiggling her tongue between them. “Learn to listen, dummy.”

Hux kept silent, even as others kept looking towards him to see if he would say anything. He folded his hands in his lap while the holo moved onto statistics for how much population growth was needed to overwhelm the Rebel Republic. It was presented so reasonably as the only path to victory. People must devote themselves to the First Order body and mind, keep its values close and make the sacrifices needed.

“The homosexual man,” declared the holo, using the strange, medical word Interior Affairs had invented, “who marries a woman and produces children with her is a hero and worthy of our respect. He knows that personal feelings are less important than our glorious First Order. Bisexuality is easily corrected by focusing only on those impulses which aid the state. Lack of physical desire is the coward’s excuse for neglecting duty. And out of all these unpatriotic choices, there is no worse vice, no more harmful act, than that of miscegenation with aliens. Anyone who chooses to have intercourse with an alien does violence to the First Order. No offense is greater than hybrid offspring.”

 ** _PAUSE, AND DISCUSS AMONGST YOURSELVES_** reappeared. The room stayed quiet, and the holo transitioned into **_THE FIRST ORDER IS HERE TO HELP YOU._** “We have thoroughly trained counselors to assist with this transition to a healthier state. All counseling is completely discreet and private between you and our proud government. Family Forward is not here to punish you for our weaknesses, but to teach you new strengths. Remember the three Rs: Report, Reduce, Redeem!”

The holo shut itself off. For the first time, Hux’s hands were shaking, and he clasped them tighter so nothing would show. The teacher returned to the front of the class and told everyone to take out their datapads and select the new Family Forward form.

Near tears, a student raised his hand and asked, “What’s going to happen to my dads?”

“You’ll be able to report that on the form,” the teacher replied. She pointed on his datapad. “See, where it asks about parents, you can tap ‘same-sex.’”

The boy sniffled and obediently began working on the form along with the other students. Hux was the only one who hadn’t started yet. “Ma’am,” he said, projecting his voice, “does this mean you’re separating from your wife?”

She toyed with the ring on her finger, not looking back at him. “You’re a very cruel child, Hux, and you can tell your father I said that. Fill out the form, or I’ll have you removed.”

“There’s no need to tell me twice,” Hux replied, getting a snicker from one of his classmates. Hux took out his stylus and applied himself to answering everything honestly. Alternating between ‘fuck you,’ ‘lick my asshole,’ and ‘insanity’ made Hux the first to finish.

School was let out early that day. Hux avoided his friends and boarded the speeder bus towards his father’s office, feeling oddly feverish and unsteady on his feet. Like all the public transportation in the city, its repulsors barely lifted it off the ground, supposedly to make traffic control easier but the reality was it made the buses cheaper. Everyone on the bus was talking loudly about Family Forward, so Hux put in his earbuds and turned the volume up to maximum. He only had twenty minutes of peace before the bus came to a sudden stop. Muting the music, Hux looked outside to see thousands of people blocking the way, crowding the street in front of the city admin building.

“I can’t believe it,” said the bus driver. “It’s a protest. I never thought I’d see the day again.”

“This is wrong,” a woman announced from the back. “We’re no better than the Rebels, questioning the government like this!”

Hux stumbled out of the bus. There were only six kilometers between him and his father. He walked it in the summer heat, taking off his school uniform jacket and tying it around his neck. The city’s public address systems were ordering people to calmly go about their work, warning that all protest would be dealt with by force. His skin was tacky with sweat by the time he made it to his father’s building and rushed into his office.

Brendol Hux was an intimidating man, tall and heavily-set, his red hair going gray at the temples. “This cannot stand,” his father was saying to the two people meeting with him. “Cast’s a madman if he thinks he can pull off annulling one in five marriages. We never should have given civilians any authority.” When he saw Hux, he told the others to come back later. “They showed it at the school, didn’t they?” he asked as soon as they were alone. “Come here.”

Nodding, Hux stepped forward. He clung to his father like a small child, tucking his head against his chest and letting out a sob. “I don’t want it to be true,” Hux mumbled. “I’m not disloyal because I’m… what they called me.”

“Shh, son, there’s nothing wrong with you,” said his father, holding him. “You’re exactly what the First Order needs.”

“But the statistics said—”

“Statistics can lie. Don’t cry over them; you’re better than this, aren’t you?”

“What if my friends report me? They’ll make me go to counseling.” Hux was blubbering like a moron, but he couldn’t stop.

“No one will make you do anything while I’m here.” Taking him by the shoulders, his father looked Hux in the eyes. “And one day, you’ll be even more powerful than I am. Right, my future Emperor?” 

“Yes, father.”

A knock on the door brought Hux back to the present. Hux drained his glass and said, “Enter.”

“My apologies, sir, but she refused to sit down and wait, and as you can see,” his receptionist said, stepping out of the way for the Minister for the Protection of Families to walk through, “I didn’t want to leave her standing.”

“I’m pregnant, not legless,” Arasu Fairhand replied with her usual cloying pleasantness, souring her Coruscanti accent. “But thank you for letting me in. Good evening, General.”

“Take a seat, Minister. Unless you’re just here to ask me how my sex life is going.”

“Well, it is something I have a professional interest in,” Fairhand said, carefully maneuvering her heavily pregnant body into a chair. She was around Hux’s age, with tightly curled hair and a pretty face that had been all over the recent Family Forward programming. “How was Senator Ren?”

“All in the report.”

“Oh, so you didn’t have fun. I came here for something else, actually.” Because Hux had made a habit of returning Fairhand’s scrutiny, he noticed that she’d finally conceded to her pregnancy and switched to wearing flats, nine months in. “One of your men was murdered yesterday. Sergeant Vistra was his name.”

“I can’t say I remember him,” Hux lied, “but it’s a shame, to lose one soldier and have another one caught up in reeducation for months.”

“Really? Everyone says you have an excellent memory, General. Unfortunately, Vistra had a rather unpleasant demise. Beaten to death and dumped on the Ministry’s lawn. I’m concerned that this horrible crime had something to do with his reporting of Lieutenant Leeds, your adjutant, for xenophilia with the possibility of pregnancy.” Fairhand folded her hands over her swollen belly. “I was touched that you cared enough to personally request a reduced sentence for Leeds, but I really couldn’t be any kinder, considering what she’d done. You wouldn’t happen to have any knowledge of bad feelings about this on your staff, would you? Perhaps have even encouraged these feelings?”

Hux hadn’t had to encourage a single thing. His officers had come up with the idea; he had only given his permission. Vistra had tried to blackmail Leeds before he reported her. “My staff has a perfectly healthy attitude towards crimes against the state, Ms. Fairhand. I find it offensive that you would imply that anyone under my supervision would engage in revenge killing.”

“That wasn’t my intention at all,” Fairhand replied. “I merely wanted your assessment of your staff.”

“And now you have it. Is there anything else you need? My penis’s whereabouts for the last forty-eight hours?”

“Somewhat. What was it like, being in Republic City?”

Nonplussed, Hux tilted his head. “Wasteful and garish, with far too many aliens. There are slums beneath the higher levels of the city.”

“The Senator must have given you a tour. I was just wondering, being the way that you are,” Fairhand said, putting no hate or pity into her words, unlike so many others, “if you’d rather you had been born in the New Republic.”

The Republic would have molded Hux into a very forgettable man. “Having seen the Republic, I can say with complete confidence there is nowhere I would rather be than here.”

Fairhand raised one eyebrow. “You’re a man with bleak priorities.” As she rose awkwardly to her feet, Hux made a point of not helping her up.

“Are you investigating Sergeant Vistra’s death?”

“No. My resources are tied up in something else at the moment.” With a wink, she added, “You might even like what I have planned. Thank you for your time, General.”

When Fairhand was out the door, Hux poured himself another drink. Much as he disliked Fairhand, her predecessor had been even worse. He put Ren’s comm unit on the desk, where he could watch it not receive any messages, and went back to writing his report.

* * *

It was two days before Hux could escape the hell of committee meetings and negotiating for resources to send the Starkiller. His friend and co-conspirator, Ordus Sere, landed on Miraxis with several compliments of freshly trained stormtroopers for Hux’s inspection, as well as a list of names of civilians who were more sympathetic to them than the Director.

He also had a hug, which he delivered in front of several witnesses. “We’re the same rank, nothing to blush over,” Sere said, crushing him and slapping his back. “Congratulations on emerging from that den of vice, the Rebel Republic, uncorrupted!”

“And you smell like your mistress’s perfume,” Hux replied.

Sere released Hux and sniffed at his own collar. “Shit. Well, I hope you had half the good time I did. Come on, take me somewhere we can talk so you can fill me in.”

Hux took Sere back to his apartment. It wasn’t quite as bare as Ren’s, nor was there an assassin droid, but he was still happy not to live much in it. Sere helped himself to the oldest bottle of Phelarion red Hux had, pouring out two glasses for them before settling his bulk on the couch. Though he was in his fifties, Sere was two meters of muscle, and could probably win an arm-wrestling match with a rancor. Hux took the chair across from him.

“You didn’t tell me anything other than ‘success’ over the comm,” Sere said. “So what happened in Republic City?”

Where could Hux even start? “Senator Ren is willing to help us with our real goals. He wants to destroy the Republic. All the rumors about him going to the dark side after he left Luke Skywalker’s school are true.”

“And he just told you this? ‘Hi General Hux, I’m secretly plotting against the Republic from within and I’d love to have you on my team’?” Sere sloshed a little of the very expensive wine around as he gestured. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

“Twice, but that’s beside the point.”

“Twice! You were there a day,” Sere replied, laughing. “Good for you. All right, in between the sex, Ren revealed that he’s a Sith. What else? Does he have a pallid master lurking in the shadows?”

“An alien named Snoke, yes.”

Sere grimaced. “I didn’t want to be right about that one.”

Even the memory of Snoke made Hux feel uneasy. “I think the alien can be eliminated, once I find out where he is. Ren speaks to him through a holoprojector, and is unfortunately quite devoted. Snoke seems to have been controlling Ren from the shadows for a long time. Ren himself is very useful, if a little… unhinged. He can read minds, though only to a limited degree without detection. And while I don’t know the full breadth of his intelligence sources, they seem extensive.”

“Does he have a reason for pulling you into all this?” Sere asked. 

“He knows about the Starkiller, somehow, though he lacks specifics.” That was an extremely worrisome leak. “Ren and Snoke plan to take advantage of the chaos caused by open warfare and seize control of the Republic.”

“Like Palpatine did with the Clone Wars.”

“Except they want to remain in the shadows. The First Order can rule, so long as we accept their ‘guidance.’” 

“Which means we’re killing Snoke. And Ren too, if you can’t manage him.”

Hux looked down at his glass of wine. “Ren’s manageable.”

With a snort, Sere replied, “I’m sure you find him very manageable. But how dangerous is he?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Hux said.

“We have been planning this for ten years. I want to know how dangerous you think he is, so if there’s even a chance that you’ll let a half-mad Force user compromise our goals, I have plenty of warning.”

“I am not going to compromise anything!” Hux had raised his voice more than he intended. More evenly, he said, “Nothing could compromise our mission more than your Theelin woman and your half-breed children have done already.”

“If you weren’t already such a miserable asshole, Hux, I’d make your nose sit a little less straight.” Sere pointed at Hux as he spoke, his large hand dwarfing the wine glass. “My Tiranna doesn’t have any power. Ren does.”

Considering that Tiranna had had Sere wrapped around her alien fingers for the better part of thirty years, Hux could disagree. But Sere was completely insensible when it came to his mistress.

“I think that we can’t afford to be cautious,” Hux replied. “Ren gives us too much of an advantage.”

“You’re probably right. But I don’t feel good about this.”

Neither did Hux. “It’s frightening to bring someone else in.”

“I trust you to be coldblooded with him,” Sere said.  

Sere’s line of questioning was vexingly one-track, and Hux resented it. “Am I ever otherwise?”

“You want me to say that you’re an unfeeling block of stone, but we know that’s not true. I’ve seen you slip up.”

To Hux’s relief, Sere didn’t mention any of them. “I can handle Ren.”

“Good. That’s all I needed to hear. Now, I think we should drink ourselves confident, what do you say?”

* * *

The seven a.m. siren startled Hux out of sleep. He was on his couch, fully dressed, with no memory of going to bed, and the start of a hangover. Hux shambled into the kitchen to heat something for breakfast and took two anti-hangover pills. Science was wonderful. He felt the afterimage of a dream when he closed his eyes, something dark and claustrophobic, but recalled nothing else.

Today would be trying. The comm delay meant that Deen had already addressed the Senate, creating an opening for Ren to somehow push for an end to the sanctions. There was at least another hour before the Senate holofeed reached Miraxis. Director Ira-Jann had made it very clear that if Ren failed, more resources would be diverted from the military and reallocated among the colonies. Progress was finally being made to work around Ira-Jann through black market trade on Rattatak, but it was slow. Hux would need to go there personally soon, much as he feared spending so much time away from the Starkiller.

Hux arrived at headquarters a little before eight. He was faced with the unusual sight of everyone looking happy.

“Sir, the holofeed came early. The sanctions have been lifted,” Mitaka said, smiling for one brief second before his look deflated again. “Senator Ren spoke poorly of you and the First Order, though its purpose was surely to move the Senate.”

“Though I appreciate the attention paid to my ego, Lieutenant, it’s not quite that delicate.”  

“I’ll try to find the happy medium, sir. I’ll send the holofeed to your office.”

In all of his career, Hux had never bothered to watch a single session of the New Republic Senate. It was something he was privileged to have the clearance to observe, but as a system of government, it was so clearly broken that it had nothing to teach him. Deen was exactly what Hux expected from a politician, spineless and fumbling. But when the feed turned to focus on Ren, tall and draped in enough fabric for three people, he was compelling. Everything that he said was bantha shit, delivered perfectly. Hux couldn’t even be too annoyed with Ren’s insults, considering that his own report on Ren contained several variations on “vacuous” and “easily led.”

His datapad pinged with a message from Ira-Jann that said only, “Meet me in my office. Urgent.” Ira-Jann was probably disappointed he’d have to give up a few things to Hux after all. Normally Hux would have made the Director wait, except he so rarely got the opportunity to gloat over Ira-Jann that he decided to go to Interior Affairs immediately.

Interior Affairs was housed in one of the first buildings to be constructed on Miraxis, which made it a hideous block with few windows and a rapid, awkward set of extensions piled onto the back and sides. There was a new sculpture outside, a towering waste of resources depicting an extremely muscular family trampling an X-wing. At least five TIE fighters could have been made from the material.

Even more changes had been made on the inside. A large part of the ceiling had been replaced with transparisteel, allowing sunlight to show off how much of the drab interior had been renovated with no thought to cost. The building reminded Hux of being back in the Republic, and he couldn’t stop calculating how Ira-Jann had found the money to build up his little kingdom.

His wariness was building by the time he was ushered into Ira-Jann’s office. The Director was standing by the window, gazing out at Miraxis’s empty land. “Fairhand’s gone missing,” he said. “I blame you.”

“What?” Hux thought of the last thing she’d said to him, _You might even like what I have planned._ “I had nothing to do with it.”

“No one had more motive, or capability, than you and your cadre. Is she still alive?” Ira-Jann turned to look at Hux, lip curled in derision. “A pregnant woman, Hux.”

“You have no means of blaming me for this.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Ira-Jann replied as he looked back to Miraxis. “But you’ll get no new infants from me or any resources for your precious Star-whatsit until Fairhand is found.”

Picturing seizing Ira-Jann by the hair and smashing his head against the transparisteel helped Hux resist shouting. “You cannot do that. You cannot stop the First Order’s greatest work simply because you lost your favorite and want to punish someone for it.”

“I just did. I expect you to bring me Fairhand shortly. We’ll have to negotiate further if she’s dead.”

“You are a cancer on the state,” Hux growled, before storming out.

* * *

Away from Interior Affairs and back in his own apartment, where he could shout and throw things as much as he liked, Hux composed himself enough to send Ren a message. Afterwards, Hux worked to put Ira-Jann’s move into perspective, instead of blinding raging over it. There was actually a small advantage to the situation. Ira-Jann had started the fight Hux had been waiting for, and he’d wasted the first move on Fairhand.

He suspected that Fairhand had defected, so she’d be in the Republic by now. If anyone could track Fairhand down for Hux, Ren could. He was fiddling with the comm unit to send another message when the ‘receive’ light turned on. Hux set the comm down before he turned it on.

Ren was still dressed for the Senate. The image was from the waist up, close enough for Hux to see some of the details of his robe and the beading in his hair. Apparently, Ren wore eyeliner when he spoke to the masses. He was leaning his head on his hand, looking rather tired.

“General,” Ren said, smiling archly. “It should please you to know that I may have the answer to your complications. A bounty hunter just sold me a very damaging First Order holocube, and I’d like to give it to you. If you can get to Rattatak any earlier, I’ll be there. Discreetly. There are many things I want to say, but a longer message won’t reach you soon enough. Out.”

Hux could be on Rattatak in two days. There was nothing to be done in his own space as long as Ira-Jann was breathing down his neck. And, he thought as he paused the holo at a particularly flattering angle, even two days seemed like too much of a delay.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [Suz](http://suzannart.tumblr.com), [Ias](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ias), [Eehn](http://eehn.tumblr.com), and all the people who’ve been wonderful about this AU on Tumblr and AO3. This has become quite the project!
> 
> And good (bad?) news everyone - all the recurring OCs have been introduced!
> 
> Note: since some people have asked, "Family Forward" was inspired by the pro-conversion therapy presentation that my high school invited for "Diversity Day" (it was the only discussion of LGBT identities that ever occurred while I was there), and 50s educational shorts.
> 
> UPDATE: Eehn illustrated several scenes from the first three chapters and they are incredible and moody and sharp and everyone should look at them [here](http://eehn.tumblr.com/post/145369984366).


	4. join the army, see the galaxy

“Welcome to Rattatak, Mister, let me see,” said the concierge, looking down at the console, “Ransolm Casterfo.”

“There’s a redhead staying here,” Kylo replied. “Almost my height, slender, always looks displeased. Put me in the room next to his.”

“I’m sorry, but the Cauldron Hotel & Spa treats our guests’ privacy very seriously.” The concierge put his hand out over the counter, palm up. “And that’s not enough description. There’s more than one redhead on the planet.”

“But only one who fits the description in this hotel.” With a wave of his hand, Kylo said, “You’ll give me what I asked for.”

“He’s bought the whole floor. I can’t.”

Hux was being lavishly cautious, though even the best hotel on Rattatak was still cheap. “Then put me just beneath him.”

“That I can do, sir. Shall I have your luggage sent up?”

“Please.”

Four Ugnaughts arrived to take Kylo’s two suitcases, cursing at their heaviness. Kylo passed the concierge the bribe he had not quite earned, keeping an eye on the tall woman by the stairs who was speaking into her comm. Probably one of Hux’s people—she was too clean-cut for Rattatak. Hux would be speaking to his contacts for another hour yet, leaving Kylo with time to waste before their meeting. He stepped back outside.

Kylo had expected the planet to be like Tatooine, an undeveloped backwater which supported a little profitable crime over its veneer of subsistence. But Rattatak had been transformed by being the closest planet to First Order space. Hotels, brothels, casinos, and spice dens had sprung up around the spaceport, all of them eager for the credits the Order’s citizens were desperate to spend on “crimes against the family.” The beings in the spaceport were as varied as Coruscant’s, as if the whole galaxy were swarming over the First Order’s raw point of need.

The soldiers were the easiest to pick out from the crowd. Starfighter pilots had the same swagger no matter what side they were on. Officers seemed uncomfortable out of the uniforms which commanded obedience. Two women, their minds projecting nothing but contentment, held each other tighter as they passed by a trio of dancers advertising a brothel. A drunk stumbled over to the Quarren dancer and put a credit chip down her top. 

Did Hux ever come here for this? Press himself against a body he had paid for and get off in callous obscurity? Hux had slept facing away from Kylo, his mind uneasy with their closeness.

“Hey there, big guy,” said a Balosar, fifteen at most, tugging at Kylo’s sleeve. He held up a set of holocards, each of them with a different winking alien. “I know what’ll wipe that lonely look off your face. Boys, girls, either, neither? I promise they’ll look just like the holo. Plenty of humans too, if you’re traditional.”

“You don’t want to sell me sex,” said Kylo.

“I don’t?” The Balosar’s antennapalps twitched.

“Where would I go, if I were a dangerous man?”

“The Ghost Quarter. Rattataki aren’t selling anything to tourists there. It’s all cloak and vibroblade stuff.”

“Lead me to it,” Kylo commanded.

The Balosar nimbly led Kylo west, away from the sanitized spaceport and into what Rattatak must have looked like before the First Order came: dust, disrepair, and people waiting to leave. Native Rattataki, white-skinned and bald-headed, were the majority here.

“Huh, I don’t remember coming here,” said the Balosar, the mind trick slipping away.

“Take this,” Kylo said, making a quick gesture as he dropped a credit chip into the boy’s hand, “and enroll in school off-planet.”  

The Balosar repeated Kylo’s words automatically and left. Snoke never approved of Kylo’s small interventions, though charity, like sex, was a weakness he allowed. There were countless beings in the galaxy suffering under the weight of its disordered history; helping just one person was like lifting up a grain of sand and saying he had moved the desert. It was why the Jedi had become powerless.

Closing his eyes, Kylo dropped into meditation, opening himself to the dark side’s embrace. It was strong in the Ghost Quarter, thriving where people fought and surrendered to despair. Hundreds of minds whispered to him in the silence he had made of himself. _If he fails me again, I’ll rip out his throat. I’m leaving I can’t stand it fuck this planet. I want to die._ Snoke had taught him how to hold himself apart from the whirlpool without succumbing to his own gift of empathy. He had never been able to meditate before Snoke taught him. Skywalker was patient, but did not understand. Kylo breathed in the Force, searching for anyone else like him to bring to Snoke as an apology for what he would do. There was someone, one life that burned differently, a little to the northwest, in a room smelling of smoke and spilled drinks.

Kylo passed unnoticed through the quarter. Returning to the hunt was more natural than anything else he did. He stopped in front of an unnamed cantina, its only sign a snarling rancor with an X-wing between its teeth, and descended the narrow stairwell, slipping past the Gamorrean bouncers. Inside, the music was loud enough to blend all the tongues being spoken into meaningless chatter. Almost everyone was wearing a blaster, and those who were not had another weapon. Every sense directed towards discovery, Kylo tracked the Force-sensitive to the back of the cantina.

The Zabrak woman was just leaving one of the half-circular booths. There was a heavy force-pike slung across her back, and she wore priceless cortosis body armor. She was the same height as Kylo as she walked past, staring curiously at him out of the corner of her eye. Untrained, but not entirely ignorant. Kylo was waiting to follow her again when he heard Hux’s voice coming from the booth the Zabrak had left.

Flanked by two bodyguards, Hux looked like a carefully researched gangster, wearing a jacket not so far in style from the one in his arrest holo. Without any product, his hair was longer and lighter than Kylo had thought. Kylo already wanted to reach out and touch him.

“She asks far too much for contracts,” Hux was saying, lifting his cigarette back to his lips. “I don’t need her experience with killing Force-users.”

One of the bodyguards spotted Kylo first and started to reach for the blaster at her belt. Hux stopped her with a look. “You’re early again,” he said. Other people must find Hux difficult to read. Kylo, however, felt Hux’s surprise, and the thin thread of relief. 

“Only by chance,” Kylo replied. “I can wait.”

“No. You’re here now.” With a nod to his guards, Hux said, “Leave us. I’ll contact you when you’re needed again.”

The woman who had reacted to Kylo first sized him up as doubtfully. She had no idea who he was, and how he had found them. “Will you be safe?” she asked Hux, leaving off the ‘sir.’ With all of them pretending not to be soldiers, Kylo was even more curious about Hux’s business on the planet.

Hux looked over Kylo slowly, surely noting that he was unarmed. “Yes.”

Though Hux’s guards were anxious about leaving, they did not question him a second time.  Kylo joined him, reluctantly keeping a polite distance between them, as if he were just another bounty hunter. Perhaps that distance was what was nagging at Hux as he flicked ash into the tray. “I don’t normally smoke,” he said, “but it projects a certain image.”

His hands were bare, unlike their first meeting. Hux had not taken off his gloves until they were in the speeder on their way to Kylo’s apartment.

“You’re very concerned about that,” Kylo replied.

“So are you. I like the hair bun. Not sure about the rest of your outfit.”

“It comes off,” Kylo said, making Hux snicker.  

“I suppose I can’t buy you a drink or offer you a cigarette, which is how these things usually start.”

“Dates, or illicit meetings?”

“They blend together, where I’m from,” Hux said wryly. “Tell me about the holocube.”

Kylo set the holocube on the table. “It’s a database of every high-ranking sex criminal in the First Order. Arrest records. Psychological profiles. By numbers alone, it seems to be most of your military command.”

“It is.” He examined the holocube in the dim light, lip curled in distaste. “There are only two people with access to those files: the Director of Interior Affairs, and the Minister for the Protection of Families. Since the Director is unfortunately still within the First Order, and Minister Fairhand has disappeared, that means…” Hux smiled. “Treason at the very highest levels of the government.”

“Happiness isn’t the usual reaction to treason. You’re at war with the Director.”

“A cold one, thus far. Fairhand’s like a daughter to that vile stain. This holocube will crush him, personally, and then he’ll have to pretend nothing happened while giving me exactly what I need.” After tucking the holocube safely into his jacket, Hux asked, “I’m on this, of course. What did you think of my arrest record? I remember acting a bit of a brat.” 

His feelings of discomfort belied his words. It radiated off him, mixed with the anger Kylo had learned so well. “You’re asking me about something you don’t want to discuss.”

“What I feel and what I actually want are often separated.” Hux took a long drag off his cigarette.

“I liked seeing you angry. And I wanted to kiss you, where your lip was split. Here.” Kylo pressed his gloved thumb to Hux’s mouth, watching Hux exhale smoke through his nose instead of moving his lips. Hux was still as Kylo tilted up his chin and listened to the stream of his thoughts slowing as his heart beat faster. Anyone could see them, but no one would care. Kylo kissed him, withdrawing his thumb so he could run his tongue over the same spot he had seen bleed. He felt Hux’s fingers at his belt before he tugged Kylo forward, moaning as Kylo softly bit at his lip.

“Monster,” Hux said warmly, slipping his hand under Kylo’s shirt to stroke his stomach.

“I don’t want to wait until we get to the hotel to take this further,” Kylo replied, sliding his hand over Hux’s ass, “do you?”        

After a moment’s hesitation, Hux answered, “The ‘fresher here’s private.”

“Fucked someone in them before?” Kylo pushed Hux’s collar out of the way so he could nip at his shoulder.  

“Ah,” Hux groaned, “I was more reasonable before I met you, so no.”

Making their way to the other end of the cantina took far too long. Someone was already sliding their credit chip into the door of the only refresher when they got there. Kylo roughly grabbed the Aqualish by the arm and turned them around. “You changed your mind. You want to go home.” As the Aqualish hesitated, Kylo added, “You’re worried someone’s broke in.”

The Aqualish fled, and Kylo pulled Hux into the refresher with him. For where it was on Rattatak, it was shockingly clean. There were no rats, no unidentifiable wastes, and the smell was endurable. Hux was laughing as Kylo pushed him up against the wall.

“Ren, have you ever actually argued for something face to face? Or do you just—” Hux said, waving his hand and snapping his fingers, “—every time?”

“Only when I have to,” Kylo replied, thinking back to the Yinchorri bounty hunter. Kylo undid the top few buttons of Hux’s shirt so he could press his mouth to his collarbone, lick where he could feel Hux’s pulse under his pale skin. “I don’t see any reason to live like other people, when I have such gifts.”

“How could anyone trust the Jedi?” Hux asked, tangling his fingers in Kylo’s hair and pulling him into a kiss. Hux was clever with his tongue, reminding Kylo of how good it had felt on his cock.

“I don’t think anyone ever did.”

Kylo dropped to his knees. Spillover from Hux’s own desperation made Kylo awkward with his hands as he unzipped Hux’s pants. They would have to be quick, though Kylo was caring less and less about where they were. Hux was already fully hard when Kylo pulled him out of his briefs, and he felt Hux’s arousal as his own when he licked the pre-come from the head of Hux’s dick.

“I thought of this while I waited to see you again,” Hux said, carefully taking Kylo’s hair out its bun, “so I hope you live up to my imagination.”

“What did you think about the most?” Kylo wrapped his mouth around Hux’s cock, slowly curling his tongue against the underside as he sucked.

“Your lips. How you’d look up at me. Fuck, you’re good at this.”

Hux would laugh again if he knew that Kylo was using his Jedi training to relax his throat. Breath control was one of the first things he had been taught. Kylo reached up to clench his fingers around Hux’s blaster belt, needing to do something with his free hand instead of touching himself. Hux never held back a sound, gasping and moaning and giving Kylo some of the filthiest encouragement he had heard in his life.

“I shouldn’t waste the opportunity to argue with you,” Hux said, tugging at Kylo’s hair right at the roots, where it felt best, “when you can’t reply. You are the worst driver I’ve ever met.”

Kylo rolled his eyes and used the barest hint of teeth as he moved faster, getting a hiss from Hux.

“Opera is terrible. I want to see you get drunk. Your shower’s excessive.”

The last one forced Kylo to choke down his laughter. Hux was biting down on his own hand to stifle himself, grinning like he had won a fight. Kylo took Hux all the way down his throat, holding himself there while he swallowed around him.

“Oh fuck you, fuck you, that’s—I’m not—I can’t—”

Hux let go of Kylo’s head, grabbing his shoulders instead as he came. Kylo had finally put Hux at a loss for words. He drank everything down, watching Hux breathe and leaning into his hand as Hux cupped his cheek.

“I’m the best driver you’ve ever met,” Kylo said as he rose to his feet, kissing the side of Hux’s mouth before he nuzzled his neck, “and I’ll let you get me drunk if you admit that.”

“I’ll cross that off the list then,” Hux replied. “Also, I am not kneeling on that filthy floor to blow you.”

“I could fuck you against the wall,” Kylo murmured. “Hold you up off the ‘filthy floor.’”

Raising one eyebrow, Hux said, “Someone tried to do that to me once and gave up halfway. He was so tired I had to ride him until I brought myself off.”

Before he could control it, Kylo pounded his fist against the tile, leaving a crack only a few centimeters from Hux’s face. “I _dislike_ hearing you talk about other men.” 

Hux had no fear of him. No anger, either, just desire and a flicker of something else, quashed before Kylo could pick it apart. Hux ran his hands over Kylo’s back while he kissed his way from just beneath Kylo’s jaw to his shoulder, as if he were trying to calm him. “Show me you can do better than he did.”

If Hux had asked him at that moment to do a better job at tearing apart a planet than the Death Star had, Kylo would have tried. He felt almost sick with guilt and alarm for wanting to truly please someone other than Snoke, but it was just sex. Hux was only a man. There was no danger in him as long as Kylo resisted weakness.

After Hux fastidiously placed his pants and shoes on what looked like the cleanest part of the sink, Kylo pressed him back against the wall. “Spread your legs,” Kylo asked as he slipped off his gloves, then took out the small bottle of lube he had in his jacket and coated his fingers with it. Hux shifted for him, allowing Kylo to reach between his legs and press one finger inside him. He was still relaxed from orgasm, closing his eyes as Kylo gently opened him up. In the refresher’s harsh overhead light, Hux’s lips looked almost blueish. The gray chain of his identitags was missing; had Kylo wanted to, he could see Hux as someone else entirely. Someone Kylo had picked up because he had good cheekbones and long legs. He ran his free hand through Hux’s hair, finding it as soft as he had thought.

“That’s enough,” Hux said, breathing in harshly.

Sighing in relief, Kylo unzipped his pants and shoved them down with his boxers. He had been ignoring his arousal for so long that he even his own hand felt incredible as he used more of the lube on his dick.

“Wrap your arms around my neck,” said Kylo. When Hux did, Kylo hooked his arms under Hux’s legs and lifted him up.

“I don’t weigh anything to you, do I?” Hux asked, eyes widening.

“Not really,” Kylo said. “I can use the Force if I get tired.”

“Of course you can.”

Kylo lifted Hux even higher. “You can let go of me if you want; I won’t drop you.” He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Hux’s as he entered him. Hux’s mouth always tasted like liquor when they kissed, and the traces of nicotine made everything feel a little sharper. He gradually lowered Hux onto his cock, taking his time with shallow thrusts, relishing each slight gasp from Hux before he bottomed out.

“I can’t believe you’re making me hard again,” Hux said, digging his fingers into the base of Kylo’s scalp, exploiting the sensitive spot he had just found. “That thing is like an override command.”

“I can make you come again too,” Kylo replied, fucking him deeper.  

“Ambitious.”

Hux was so tight around him, so gorgeously undone already, that Kylo’s self-control was fraying. They were too close for Kylo to shut Hux’s pleasure out of his head, stray thoughts pulsing between them. _I miss his hands. He’s so deep inside me I think I’m going to lose my mind it’s perfect I wanted this so much fucking bastard._ Hux reached down to touch himself, and Kylo had to clench his hands around Hux’s ass to resist holding him up with the Force and doing it himself.

“No cheating,” Hux muttered, pulling Kylo’s face towards his neck. “Use your mouth. No marks above the collar.” 

“Other rules?” Kylo’s voice sounded broken to him.

“You can draw blood for all I fucking care.”

Kylo shifted Hux again, thrusting into him as hard as he wanted to. He distantly felt Hux’s nails scoring lines along his back while Hux told him “more.” Kylo bit down on Hux’s collarbone, still cautious until Hux ran his fingers in Kylo’s hair and pressed against his head, urging him on. He was very good at following orders. “Yes, like that, make me ache with you,” Hux gasped, and Kylo could hardly think, just obeyed every little thing Hux said or wanted or craved. Hux soon cried out, his body tensing in Kylo’s arms as he climaxed. Kylo followed him over, muffling himself against Hux’s skin.

Without even realizing he had been doing it, half the tile by Hux had crumbled, leaving a layer of detritus under them. Hux kissed Kylo’s forehead as he tried to gather himself together, regaining the mastery of the Force which had slipped from him.

“Let me clean you up,” Kylo asked.

Hux held his hand to Kylo’s mouth, sticky with his own come. Kylo began by licking off his palm, kissing and sucking at each of his fingers until nothing was left, enjoying being the center of Hux’s attention.

“You look good doing that,” Hux said.

“I know.”

It was only a little awkward to slip out of Hux and let him back down. There was a satisfying stiffness in Hux’s walk over to the sink, and Kylo enjoyed his last view of Hux’s legs, for at least the next few hours. He checked his back in the mirror while he waited for Hux to finish, noting a few spots of red on the back of his shirt.

“You drew blood.”

“And you didn’t,” Hux replied, fingering the darkening bruise beneath his collar. “Try harder next time, Kylo Ren.” He turned, finally noticing what Kylo had done to the wall. “Is that normal?”

“Obviously not.”

“Huh.” Hux crushed some of the tile dust under his boot, his brows furrowed as he examined the damage. “We have to get back to the hotel; I need to shower before I meet my next contact. I’ll want you with me, so you may want to clean yourself up as well.”

“As you wish, General.”

* * *

Kylo turned the shower’s heat to maximum. The scratches Hux had left started to sting, though the pain from the near-scalding water was worse. He was becoming attached, sentimental, possessive. Disloyal. Kylo again cursed how foolish he was not to hide more of himself from Hux. There was only one thing left to keep from him, and Kylo would have to cling to that last mystery.

Hux should fear him. His mind had a break in it, some missing impulse to protect himself when Kylo surrendered to violence. And it was awful, not to be feared.

Even Skywalker had been afraid of Ben, the weak little thing Kylo had been before Snoke shaped him into something better. Ben was strong in the Force, but had no ability to control it after his unique “gift” manifested in his teens. Control was impossible, when everyone’s feelings kept crawling into his head. Skywalker and the others always told Ben that his gift was precious, that he would learn how to master it one day, that it only happened because Ben was _so very kind_. Ben would try to lift a rock with the Force, then someone else’s emotions would pound against his brain, and the rock would be pulverized. Ben broke another student’s arm during lightsaber training. Then, in his sleep, he accidentally slipped into his best friend’s mind, waking up in her body and screaming. He thought he would be trapped inside her forever, a predator wearing his victim’s skin.

That was when Snoke saved Kylo. His voice guided Ben’s consciousness back to his own body. There was no helping the girl, though. Ben had killed her. Skywalker arrived too late for any of them. Ben lingered for years afterwards, keeping himself far away from everyone but Skywalker. He stopped speaking to his parents, unable to speak of what his gift had done, unworthy of their love and forgiveness. Because they would forgive Ben, the murderer, the killer, at the same time they kept him from the truth that could save him.

In his arrogance, Skywalker too tried to keep Ben from becoming what his bloodline demanded that he become. Skywalker was the same liar his parents were. Ben’s terrible fate lifted from him when he caught, by chance, a near-scrambled HoloNet transmission, telling him that he was the grandson of Darth Vader.

At last, Ben submitted to Snoke’s whispers, which had told him always that he had been born of the dark side.

Kylo turned the water off. Pain had centered him again, allowing him to think clearly. Hux was no danger to Kylo’s service to Snoke. His profile on the holocube had described him as lacking empathy, an assessment Kylo had found nothing to disprove. Even if Kylo were so monumentally stupid as to feel something for Hux other than attraction and curiosity, Hux was an empty vessel. His anger would have made him a good Sith, if he had any Force sensitivity and the Sith had not betrayed themselves into extinction.

Getting dressed and ready seemed to take no time at all, compared to how he presented himself in the Republic. He put his hair back into a bun, exposing his ears. Ben had always worn his hair long to hide them. An awkward child and a broken adult.

The clean-cut woman from earlier glared at Kylo when he arrived on Hux’s floor, but she let him pass. Hux’s cover story for Kylo was that he was a “contractor” with unique skills, and since none of his staff had ever seen a HoloNet transmission in their lives, his political identity was safe. Kylo let himself into Hux’s room. It was nicer than Kylo’s, with more space and furniture that looked like it might have been made in the last century. Hux had set up a sort of command station in one corner with a set of holoscreens and an aggressive-looking device which might be some sort of hyperwave amplifier. Everything appeared a little out of date, but in good order. He only had one suitcase, though he had already taken everything out and hung it up.

Hux was just getting out of the refresher. “Did something happen?” Hux asked, completely naked and toweling off his hair. “You look a little sullen.”

“Nothing happened.”

With a shrug, Hux walked past Kylo to go through his clothes. To Kylo’s disappointment, he started getting dressed. “We’re meeting a warlord, Morag, that I have a long connection with. She’s worked with the First Order for years—we’ve practically made her—but something’s gone rotten on this planet.” After frowning at four incredibly similar shirts, Hux chose one he liked and slipped it on. “If it’s not her, it’s one of her underlings, or one of her rivals. I need you to read her mind and find out if she’s honest.”

“That won’t be easy to do without alerting her,” Kylo said.

“But not impossible, correct?”

“No, not impossible. What exactly are you doing on this planet?”

Hux sat down so he could pull on his boots. “Preparing an army the Director doesn’t know about, among other things. I thought I might have to deploy it early, but your holocube saved me from that. I really don’t know how to thank you for it.”

“I had wondered why you didn’t,” Kylo replied. The scale of the First Order’s operations spoke of resources he would have never thought they possessed.  They must be overreaching somewhere.

“I was going to, but then you kissed me and we ended up in the public ‘fresher. So: thank you. If there is anything you want that I can give you, any favor, you may have it.”

He was telling the truth, so far as he knew it. That was something Kylo had learned early: people lied to themselves as much as they did others. Kylo inclined his head. “Noted. I thought I’d bring you Fairhand next.”

Hux hated her only slightly less than the Director; he prickled at the mention of her name. “You’ve found her?”

“I’m looking. I will find her.”

“At this rate, I really will have to give you the galaxy or be indebted forever.” Hux ran his hand through his hair and tucked it behind his ear. He always seemed to be adjusting how it fell, clearly unfamiliar with having it loose yet vain enough not to cut it shorter. “You can move your things into my room, if you like,” he said quietly. “I’d appreciate the extra protection.”

Kylo remembered how uncomfortable Hux had been sharing a bed. Practical as it was, Hux’s change of mind was puzzling. Perhaps he was in more danger than Kylo had guessed. “Won’t your staff be suspicious?”

“One thing you should learn about a proper military is that there is no question of loyalty. They are under my command, and as such, I could blow their mother’s brains out in front of them and they would salute and ask to clean up the mess.” Though Hux’s voice was even, his offense was obvious. “As for the matter of your sex, the only reason you didn’t see all their faces on the holocube was because they’re too low-ranking to matter.”

“I do want to stay with you.” Kylo felt like he had stumbled over more than just his wording. 

“Good to have that settled then,” Hux replied, rising to his feet. “Come on, it takes sixty minutes to get to her compound by speeder. You are absolutely not driving.”

“Shame. I could get us there in thirty.”

“That’s why you’re not driving.”

* * *

The four-person speeder was the first bit of First Order tech that Kylo was actually impressed with. It was ugly, but then the driver showed him the set of plasma guns which dropped from the chassis with the press of a button. “Have you ever gotten to use them?” Kylo asked.

“Not on this planet,” she replied. “Elsewhere? Plenty. The ‘Unknown’ in ‘Unknown Regions’ doesn’t mean uninhabited, that’s for damn sure.”

“Corporal Qera is a crack shot,” Hux said.

“Thank you, sir.”

Hux insisted that Kylo wear a blaster, even though he had no need for one. According to him, it looked suspicious to go unarmed on Rattatak. Kylo kept fiddling with the weapon, which earned him a lecture on trigger discipline from Qera and Hux. Since Hux would not let him disassemble the blaster on a moving speeder, Kylo turned his attention to the unappealing scenery.

“Who was that Zabrak with the force-pike you were talking to?”

“A merc leader named Iona. She’s very good. Has a bit of a thing for killing Force-sensitives; I think she’s trying to assemble a lightsaber collection to outdo Grievous’s, but Jedi are rather scarce these days.”

“She’s Force-sensitive herself. I think she’s dangerous.”

“Iona’s probably off-planet already,” Hux replied. “You were tracking her to the cantina, weren’t you?”

Kylo tapped his fingers against the side of the speeder. “Yes. We have to discuss how you should speak to Morag, if you want me to be of any use to you.”

It irritated Hux whenever Kylo deflected so transparently, but they were really running short on time.  Kylo explained the importance of yes/no questions, something that even an ordinary Force-user could usually find lies in. The rest was more complicated, and Kylo was asking Hux as much about Morag as he was talking about his abilities.

“Compound in sight,” Qera announced.

Morag’s compound was a loose collection of module housing, scavenged parts, and warehouses, which Kylo assumed were full of even more weapons than he saw on Morag’s people. Qera happily pointed out that the enormous cannons facing outwards were railguns.

“They rely on electromagnetism,” Qera said. “Useless in space but efficient on-planet. We developed them when we had a hard time getting ahold of plasma. The Rattataki love them.”

“I can see that,” Kylo replied.

At the gate, two scowling Rattataki in heavy armor waved their three speeders in. After their group had gotten out, more Rattataki fell in alongside them to escort them further into the complex. It looked like a trap, but he sensed nothing hostile from the Rattataki. Some of them were even joking with Hux’s soldiers.

The woman they had come to see stepped out from one of the modules, squinting in the strong light. She could have been anywhere from her forties to her sixties—it was hard to tell with Rattataki—with a square build and bright tattoos all along her muscled arms. A detail that Hux had completely left out was that Morag’s entire lower jaw was bionic.

“General Hux!” she boomed. “You dead-faced ginger villain, you look like you’ve just come off a vacation. Like my new jaw? You should see the other guy.” She pointed to a rotting corpse hanging off a banner.

“Good to see you again, Morag,” Hux said, reaching out to shake her hand.

“You too, you shit,” she replied, clapping him on the forearm. “Who’s the tart next to you?”

It took Kylo a moment to realize she was talking about him. Hux bit down on his lip, trying not to laugh as he told Morag that Kylo was a contractor named Ransolm.

“Great! He looks great. Come in and maybe we’ll talk a little business.”

Morag ducked back into the dark module, leaving them to follow her inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name 'Ransolm Casterfo' is a reference to _Bloodline_. Ren's sense of humor is... well. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for the overwhelming response to Chapter 3! I had some great conversations, both here and on tumblr. This chapter is thankfully (unfortunately?) not so crushing in content.
> 
> UPDATE!!! Suz illustrated the cantina kiss and it's so perfect and wonderful and moody and everyone should marvel at it [here](http://suzannart.tumblr.com/post/145974600727/i-liked-seeing-you-angry-senator-ren-and-hux).


	5. fog of war

Morag’s home had hardly changed since their first meeting, when Hux was fifteen. Her collection of war trophies got bigger, but the rancor skull always stayed next to the Old Republic era computer. There was no rushing Morag, so Hux took a seat at the table she’d made from a busted TIE Interdictor chassis, and gestured for Ren to join him. Morag poured out three shots of the local rotgut.

“I don’t drink,” Ren said, holding up his hand when she started to slide the glass towards him. Morag smirked and gave the extra to Hux.

“Smart choice, when it’s this stuff,” Morag replied. “I think Hux actually likes it, though.” She tossed back her shot, grimaced, and sat down across from them.

Rattataki liquor tasted like the inside of a starfighter engine. Hux gulped down the first one and did the second before his stomach caught up with his gag reflex. “Yavin’s defeat,” Hux hissed, “it just gets more awful.”

“Just like being out on the ass-end of the galaxy, isn’t it? Spend your whole life trying to get to the good stuff in the Core.” Turning to Ren, she asked, “Where’d you grow up, contractor?”

“The ass-end of the galaxy, mostly.” Ren had spread himself out, arm over the chair next to him and his long legs splayed in front. It was like he was trying to take up all the space Hux wasn’t in. “But I was born on Coruscant.”

Little Ben must have been handed over to his uncle early. Ren’s very public denial of his parents began to make sense.   

“At least you don’t sound Coruscanti,” Morag said, “unlike our dear friend, General Hux. What brought you here, anyway? I know you’re not here to console me about my lost beauty.”

Hux’s head was buzzing a little from the liquor. Turning down a drink from a Rattataki was an insult he should’ve warned Ren about before he stuck Hux with a double shot of poison. “We’ve had reports of unrest from the planet, so a personal investigation was needed. Whose corpse is outside?”  

“The unrest. As you can see, it’s dealt with. She was Rattataki, but from off-world, and it put some stupid ideas in her head about what the Republic could do for us.”

Ren gave no indication that Morag was lying. “Why don’t you want to join the Republic?” he said, veering completely off-script.

“Because of where I fucking live,” Morag replied, crossing her arms. “The Republic has never given a shit about anything but protecting its pockets, not before the Empire and not after.”

“You think the First Order will be so much better for you?” Ren asked.

“Please go on about how terrible the First Order is,” Hux said sharply, “while you continue to help me advance its goals.”

Ren glared at him. “I’m helping you, not the Order.”

“You know,” Morag said, “I’ve got a decent HoloNet signal out here. I don’t follow your political career, Senator Ren, but your sex life’s pretty interesting.”

As Ren started to raise his hand, Morag slammed it against the table, drawing her blaster in the same moment, aiming it between his eyes. Hux reacted automatically, getting to his feet and raising his own blaster to her head the instant he saw her reach for hers.

“Shoot him and you’ll be dead two minutes before the airstrike vaporizes what’s left of you,” Hux said.

Ren seemed to be the only calm person in the room. He looked up at Morag, his expression curious rather than threatened. 

“Don’t move, Jedi,” Morag growled. “Or speak. Hux, he’s here to see if I’m trustworthy, isn’t he? Twenty years licking the First Order’s ass, and this is what I get?”

“Yes. You get a test, instead of a blaster bolt.”

Morag hesitated, then holstered her blaster. Hux was happy to copy her. “Your father would’ve gone for the blaster,” she said.

He would have. His father was an immediate and decisive judge of character who never extended trust to aliens.    

“Alright, Kylo Ren,” Morag said, sitting back down, “do your wizard shit and see if I’m honest.”

“You’re not weak-minded,” Ren replied. “It will hurt.”

“Kid, I know pain.”

Something about her words made Ren flinch. He stood up and crossed over to her, turning her chair around with a gesture. “This is already creepy,” Morag muttered.

“Do you ever meditate?” Ren asked, holding her face in his hands, tilting up her head.

“Do I look like I do?”

“Then listen to me, and submit.” Ren’s tone turned soothing. “Don’t think of yourself as a person. You are no one. You are a vessel that is filled with someone else’s memories, another’s thoughts, a stranger’s desires. All will be emptied.” When he paused, the air around them felt charged, as if they were standing next to cannon readying to fire. “Are you loyal to General Hux?”

“Yes.” Morag started to break out in cold sweat, her hands clenching into fists.

“Are you?” he repeated. “You’re afraid Hux is too much like his father, that he is someone,” Ren said, his eyes losing focus as Morag shuddered, “who breaks his word.”

Hux ground his teeth as he forced himself to remain silent. His father was an honorable man, but he never hesitated to press an advantage. It felt like all Hux’s weaknesses in comparison to his father kept being thrown back in his face. Why was Hux’s own character on trial, when Morag was the potential traitor?

“You invited the traitor in,” Ren said. “You let her into your bed. That was how she was able to surprise you. You thought she could help you. She spoke to you about the Republic, what it could do for you, and you listened. And then—” Something had terrified Ren. He let Morag go, stumbling backwards. Morag simply collapsed.

Not allowing himself to be distracted by theatrics, Hux drew his blaster again, moving himself between Morag and Ren. “Can I trust her?” he asked.

Ren nodded. Looking drained and ashen, he put his hand on Hux’s shoulder, leaning into him. Hux wrapped his arm around Ren’s waist to steady him.

“Get that blaster off me,” Morag muttered from the floor.

“It was necessary,” Hux said, putting it away for what he hoped would be the last time.

“Fuck you.” Morag clambered to her feet, using the table to pull herself up. “Told you I knew about pain.”

“It’s different, when it happens to other people.” Ren pressed his forehead against Hux’s arm, as if he were trying to keep something in. “I have no control over it. I need to rest now, I’m sorry.”

“Bed’s in the back,” Morag said. “I need to give the General a tour of the compound anyway.”

“Thank you,” Ren replied, letting go of Hux so he could slink off and flop onto the mattress. Hux irrationally wanted to stay with him, not that it would do any good.

And he had Morag to apologize to. She led him outside, where his soldiers were already getting comfortable with her gang. Corporal Qera tried a shot of Rattataki liquor and spat it out just as quickly, making the Rattataki cackle and clap her on the back.

“If I had any real doubts about you,” Hux said. “I wouldn’t have come here personally.”

Morag snorted. “I know that. It’s a risk of the business, thinking someone you’ve known for years is at your throat. But I didn’t expect that you’d bring a Sith-touched Skywalker out here to go sightseeing in my brain—I thought we’d shoot the shit for a few hours and then you’d remember that time I nursed you through a hangover.”

“You left some water and vita-rations next to where I’d passed out on the floor.”

“Yeah, that counted as nursing.” Morag hopped into her swoop bike, making it hover just high enough that Hux had an awkward climb to the passenger seat. She set off on a slow circle of the compound. Hux was pleased to see how it had grown since his last visit, and that the Rattataki were better equipped. “What the hell are you doing with Ren?” she asked.

This was only the second time he’d had to defend his connection with Ren, and he was already sick of the conversation. “He’s a useful ally.”

“He’s someone who went womp-rat crazy six years ago, changed his name, and built his political rep on kicking the Empire’s corpse around. Does that sound like someone you can rely on?”

“You’re assuming a lot.” Morag was probably the first Rattataki he’d ever met who paid attention to Republican news. More than Hux ever had, before he was sent to Hosnian Prime.

“I haven’t gotten to the sexy part yet, where he looks at you like you’re the last piece of nerf-steak on the planet. And you’re just as bad, acting protective of someone who could kill us both by pressing his thumb and forefinger together.”

“He’s not invincible.” Hux thought back to the boneless way Ren had moved, as if whatever normally animated him had left.

Morag tightened her hands around the swoop’s controls. “No matter what you tell yourself, he’ll turn on you one day, and you won’t get off as lightly as I did.” Hux couldn’t keep himself from looking at where the skin of her cheek joined the dull silver color of her cybernetic jaw. “I put my trust in you to take Rattatak out of the hole we’ve lived in for centuries. I could’ve turned and I didn’t.”

“I won’t forget that.”

“But will it matter, when you get what you want?” Morag flipped the swoop’s boost switch. “I’ll show you the facility up in the mountains, unless you’re in a hurry to get back.”

Ren could use the extra rest. “Go ahead.”

* * *

They returned hours later, when the sun had already set. Ren was back on his feet, playing sabacc for a crowd under one of the lights. He moved over on the bench so Hux would have room to join him. Hux had never liked card games, though he was good at them. It was just a matter of counting cards and memorizing probabilities.

“He’s cheating,” Qera said. “Using the Force to control what’s next.”

“Yes, because you said I was cheating when I was still playing fairly. Now I’m showing you what cheating looks like. Deal you in?”

“Not when I’ll lose,” Hux replied. “How are you cheating against a computer? It’s not even alive.”

“The Force is in everything. A computer running a sabacc program follows the path of least resistance; normally, that’s the rules. But if the Force wants it to give me the Idiot card,” Ren said, tapping his fingers on the table, “then that’s what happens.”

Ren drew the Idiot, displaying it for all his watchers. “Fierfek,” muttered one of the Rattataki.

“Idiot’s Array,” Ren announced, sliding his last card in. “I win again.” As the crowd grumbled about losing their entertainment, Ren rose and told Hux to walk with him.

The searchlights around the compound were so bright that the stars were hardly visible. Hux found he missed them; the electricity rationing he’d grown up with always left the night sky intact. Ren halted near the edge of the compound, where the distant lights of the port brought out the silhouette of the mountains. Rattatak could be beautiful, as long as most of it was in shadow.

“How can the Force want anything?” Hux asked.

“The same way any of us do,” Ren said cryptically, speaking like the Jedi he wasn’t. “The Force seeks always to balance itself when it is disturbed. Force-users are a flaw; we bend the Force to our will, and try to escape the cost. The light and dark sides are merely different ways to run from the final balance.”

That explanation sounded like nothing Hux had ever heard before. It reminded him of how darkly Ren had guided Morag into meditation, and Snoke’s ghoulishness. “Was the Force balancing itself when you collapsed at Morag’s?”

“No. That was merely bad memories. At the beginning of my training, Snoke showed me every agony he had suffered. The first one was a failed assassination attempt where he lost most of his jaw.” Ren fell silent, frowning out at the view. “Feeling that pain for a second time reminded me of being someone I never want to be again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know what that’s like. Having to kill parts of yourself.”

Hux did know, though he wouldn’t phrase it as savagely as Ren did. He kept making compromises, bargaining with his future self. If I spare myself this now, Hux would think, then I can have my fill later. He made himself the man he needed to be, because an Emperor could have whatever he wanted—and power, above all, was what Hux wanted. It was what his father had wanted for him.

“We should spend the night here,” Hux said, “rather than risk traveling in darkness.”

“Good. I like Rattatak. I don’t often get to come to these sorts of places.”

“A resource-poor rock lacking in any organized government?”

“Somewhere I can go without a mask. But you’re right, I rarely get to escape government either. Let’s head back. I can make use of the HoloNet connection which gave me away.”

* * *

Without being asked, Morag put them in a room together. She showed how poorly she thought of their arrangement by the size of the bed, which was big enough for one Kylo Ren and perhaps a small loth-cat. Ren settled on the floor, datapad balanced on his crossed legs, leaving the bed to Hux. Glancing at Ren’s datapad out of the corner of his eye, Hux flinched at the number appearing by his inbox. His own emails were mostly from Mitaka in different shades of panic.

To: hux@highcommand.fo.net

Subject: TRAINING RECORDS

Sir, I cannot locate the training records for the FN series of stormtroopers.

To: hux@highcommand.fo.net

Subject: RE: TRAINING RECORDS

Sir, never mind. Training records were found next to your terminal. I’m sorry.

To: hux@highcommand.fo.net

Subject: OFFICE WHISKIE

Sir, General Sere is on the premises and said that your ‘office whiskie’ has gone missing.

To: hux@highcommand.fo.net

Subject: RE: OFFICE WHISKIE

I apologize again, sir. General Sere broke into your cabinet and then drank the office whiskie.

There was an actually necessary email from Captain Phasma, which he answered at length. Mitaka excepted, everyone in the First Order was functioning adequately without him. The number of Ren’s emails had gone down to ’31.’ Bored, Hux decided to read some of the HoloNet gossip columns on Ren that Morag apparently kept up with. He clicked the newest one, dated only a few hours ago.

**THE HUMAN WITH A THOUSAND LOOKS: A RENTROSPECTIVE**

By Intwing Sluice

_Regular readers of the Scoop have noticed the recent drop in coverage of the always exciting Kylo Ren. He’s been rather hard to find this past week, appearing only once to steal our hearts in the Senate (wearing an incredible custom piece by Breen Zavos) and then disappearing back out of the spotlight. What’s come over our favorite scandalous politician? Is he finally settling down, or is he up to something? Not to be discouraged by this tragic drought, I’ve assembled a slideshow of some of the best #renspreads, torrid love affairs, and killer (ha!) outfits from the last six years. You’ll never believe what’s number one!_

Hux couldn’t reconcile the outrageous persona he was seeing on the HoloNet with the Ren in front of him, calmly answering messages. As Hux grew more irritated he changed his position, sitting up straight with his feet flat on the floor. He finally stopped reading the articles when it became too much to have a record of all the men Ren had ever fucked. The only relief was that most of them had Hux’s basic body type, and none had tentacles.

“I’ve been reading about you on the HoloNet,” Hux said, “and while I now know your star sign, I’m not sure you’ve ever been in a relationship for more than a month at a time.”

“You can’t trust everything you read on the HoloNet,” Ren replied. “But you’re probably right. I’ve never kept track. Sex is a useful distraction, for everyone.”

“Including you.”

“Yes.” Ren looked closely at Hux, likely trying to read Hux’s intentions. If he figured them out, that would put him a step ahead of Hux himself. “What was your longest relationship, General? Since you brought up the subject.”

It was a completely fair turnabout of a question Hux had no good answer for. While he went over every tedious arrangement he’d ever had, Ren put his datapad aside and moved forward, resting his hands on Hux’s knees. It made Hux uncomfortable, as if he were being worshipped, though his cock had other ideas about Ren being between his legs again. 

“I think my longest relationship didn’t even have sex in it,” Hux said, brushing some of the loose hairs away from Ren’s face. He seemed vulnerable while he looked up at Hux, the severity of his face softened by his deceptively mild eyes. “For my first command, I was stationed at a remote research outpost. There were only two hundred of us, so it was miserably claustrophobic. My adjutant was a few years younger than I was, and not bad-looking.”

He was gorgeous. Tall, long-limbed, with a crooked smile he always hid, because he came from a family with nothing and felt he had to play the perfect, stiff-lipped officer. His personality was a charming mix of neuroses he worked off at the gym. “Every week, he would ask me to unbutton my collar and insult him while he cleaned my room more thoroughly than a droid. Eventually, I asked him if he wanted to suck me off. Because all of it had to be leading to sex, didn’t it? But he told me that he wasn’t a deviant freak and stormed off to do his usual post-cleaning wank into my underwear before he washed them in the sink. That wasn’t the end of it though, because he kept showing up and I liked how he pressed my uniforms. It lasted about a year, until I got transferred.” 

“You liked him,” Ren said, fingers at Hux’s fly. “Did you enjoy insulting him?”

“Not until he called me a freak.” Hux groaned as Ren slipped his big hand into his trousers, rubbing him through his briefs. “It was more satisfying after that.”

Ren started clambering into Hux’s lap, his size and eagerness nearly knocking Hux over. The bed gave a warning creak. Hux had to pull him into bed, letting Ren pin him on his back. It stung when Ren licked the bruise he’d left earlier. “He was a complete fool,” Ren murmured. “He didn’t even touch you, and I still want to strangle him.” Ren pulled Hux’s shirt over his head before he tugged off his own.

Hux hated remembering his time at that station. He’d been so lonely, faced with nothing to do but correct a decade of administrative neglect. Ren would have made it easier. Like he was doing now, fixing Hux’s problems with his sorcery and Republican connections. He felt Ren’s hands on his face, soft lips on his mouth and he pretended for a moment that he could have Ren without paying for it later.

“I can’t do this,” Hux said, pushing at Ren’s chest. 

Ren backed away. “What?”

“This,” Hux replied, gesturing between them, “where we keep having sex with each other and act like there’s nothing complicated about it.”

“Sex isn’t complicated,” Ren said.

“It’s complicated for me, and you punched a crack in the wall when I talked about an ex.”

Ren looked like Hux had struck him. “I wouldn’t have hurt you.” Lying down next to Hux on the bed, Ren’s shoulders slumped. He seemed to be trying to make himself smaller.

“I’m not afraid that you’ll hit me, Ren.”

“So what do you want from me?”

Was this who Ren was with Snoke? Fearful at the first sign of disapproval, desperate to correct whatever had displeased him?

“I don’t want you to fuck other people,” Hux admitted. “It infuriates me just to think about it, and I keep thinking about it.”

“Good,” Ren replied, smiling a little. “I haven’t wanted anyone else since I met you.” 

Easy for Ren to say that now, when less than a week had passed. “Will that still be true when we have to spend months away from each other?” Hux said.  “It’s unreasonable to expect mutual fidelity in that situation. Are you going to give up screwing your way through the gossip holos just so you can get my bony arse into bed every twelve weeks?”

“Yes.”

Hux refused to be relieved. He wouldn’t let it make him happy, either. At least they got through the whole thing without saying the word ‘boyfriend,’ which would’ve made Hux want to eat plasma. “Damn it,” Hux muttered, staring at the wall instead of at whatever horribly earnest expression Ren had. “This won’t end well.”

“Neither will many of the things we do,” Ren said. “If you loathe risk so much, we could retire together to the Outer Rim and watch the galaxy collapse on its own.” Since Ren knew he wasn’t in trouble for being violently possessive, he was back to brazenly feeling Hux up. “Should I stop?” he asked, fingers splayed over Hux’s ass, thumb digging against his hip.

“No, keep telling me about our future nerf farm. But strip first.” The bed creaked again when Ren moved. Hux worried they may actually break the thing as he shoved off his own boots and trousers. He wasted a few moments admiring Ren’s broadly muscled back, still scored by Hux’s nails and speckled with moles just like the rest of him. If they ever had a day all to themselves, Hux would ask Ren to spend the entire thing naked. “Now come back here, I’m freezing.”

Ren settled over Hux, holding himself up on one arm so his full weight wouldn’t go on Hux’s chest. Which was a shame, really. Hux pulled Ren’s head down to kiss him, fisting his hands in his thick hair. Slowly dragging his free hand down Hux’s chest, Ren wrapped his fingers around Hux’s cock. That made Hux let go of Ren’s hair so he could put his hands wherever he wanted, which was everywhere. Soon Ren was thrusting against him and using his hand to hold their dicks together. Hux hadn’t fucked anyone like this in a long time, relaxed and close. Ren didn’t seem to get tired, content to do everything for Hux as he broke the kiss and nuzzled the bite he’d left there earlier.

“You like marking me up,” Hux said.

“So do you,” Ren replied, tilting his head so Hux had a better view of how he’d scraped his shoulder. “I had the imprint of your teeth in my skin for days after you left the Republic. I’d press my fingers against it when I jerked off.” 

“You only thought of me? The whole time?”

Ren nodded. 

“At least we’re both going mad,” Hux said, sliding his tongue past Ren’s lips to silence his inevitable retort. Ren tightened his grip instead, moving more roughly against him. It was exactly what Hux wanted. When he skimmed his fingers across the small of Ren’s back, he felt the slight trace of sweat. He wondered if Ren’s arms had already been aching from having to hold Hux up in the refresher, and now he was showily exerting himself again for Hux’s pleasure. Hux came not long after that. It wasn’t the literally wall-shattering experience of the refresher, but he still left him exhausted and too agreeable to stop Ren from finishing on his chest.

“Enjoying the view?” Hux asked, when Ren kept staring at him. Hux stretched out one arm against the pillow as he swept back his hair, because he wasn’t above being vain when someone was watching.  

“Memorizing it,” Ren said, never taking his eyes off Hux. “I know you won’t let me take a holo.”

“Right. I already have a reputation for being the most unapologetic pervert in the military without you getting mugged and giving my enemies their wildest fantasy.”   

Ren found a rag somewhere and handed it over for Hux to clean himself up. “You’re open about your sexuality?” he asked.

“Absolutely not, but I’m thirty-four and never married. It’s unheard of for my generation.”  Hux tossed the rag at the wall, hoping that a cleaning droid found it before any of Morag’s people. “I could’ve married a woman like myself—it’s not an uncommon arrangement. I didn’t want to give the Director the satisfaction, though. So that’s why every bureaucrat in the First Order assumes I’m a degenerate, even if they can’t access my criminal record.”

“They must underestimate you,” said Ren, laying his head on Hux’s chest and tucking his arm around Hux’s waist. Even if Hux had wanted Ren to give him more distance, there wasn’t space on the mattress.

“Of course they do,” Hux replied, idly curling Ren’s hair around his fingers. “You’re similar, acting like a preening brat in front of the holorecorders and feeding people too good of a story to resist.”

“It’s tiresome, pretending that I’m harmless.”

“Neither of us have to do it forever.”

Ren went quiet, his mind doubtlessly going on the same morose trajectory as Hux’s. They would have to play their roles until they either succeeded, or died.

* * *

Hux was on a ship. Even in near blackness, he could tell it was a small one. He could hear the engine thrumming under the ventilation system, and the air was stale. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he made out the circular outline of the room he was in, bare of everything but a holoprojector and the chair he was sitting in. His body felt frail, aching like he’d been in a physical fight.    

“Why did you abandon the hunt?”

Though the words came from his own throat, they weren’t his. They belonged to Ren’s master, the alien from the holoprojector. Hux was looking through Snoke’s eyes.

The pile of black rags on the floor moved. It was a person, prostrate, face hidden under its cowl. “Supreme Leader, I didn’t.” Ren was the cowering thing, his unmistakable tone twisted into a simpering whine. “It was not the right time. She is clearly powerful—”

“And you are not?” Snoke said harshly, making Ren hunch his shoulders. “Excuses. You were distracted.”

“Yes.”

“Look at me.”

Snoke held out his withered hands. When Ren finally raised his head, there was fear in his eyes. Snoke curled one finger inwards, urging Ren closer. Repulsion seized Hux as Snoke reached out to touch Ren’s face, his corpse-white hands even paler than Ren’s skin. The fear left Ren’s eyes, replaced with an adoration that made Hux even more disgusted than he was seeing him touched by the creature.

“I have given you too much freedom,” Snoke said. He spoke sweetly now, like a teacher of small children, as his thumb brushed against Ren’s lip. “Already betrayed once, and yet I have not lost my tenderness. Am I too gentle with you?”

“You do not make mistakes, Supreme Leader.”

Letting Ren go, Snoke replied, “Do not play the politician now, Kylo Ren. I will not allow another to use my training against me.”

“I cannot trust myself to make the right choices. I need more of your guidance,” Ren pleaded, his hands on Snoke’s knees.

“You will have it. But I am disappointed that you still need it. You were doing so well, until the general. If he were anyone else, I would ask you to kill him.”

Ren started at the word ‘kill,’ and Snoke’s hand shot out to hold his head motionless. Hux realized that the alien had no real strength left; everything he did to Ren, Ren had to allow. This time, Ren winced when Snoke stroked his cheek. Did Snoke even realize how quickly Ren had slipped away from him?

Hux wouldn’t use an assassin against Snoke. No, he would do the job personally. The hubris of the creature, to speak of Hux like he was a pet Ren had too much fondness for. As if he were a disposable asset, instead of one of the most powerful people in the galaxy. 

As if Ren’s loyalty still solely belonged to Snoke.

“I may yet ask for Hux’s death,” Snoke added. The fucking gall of him. “If that comes to pass, it is because you have failed. Sentiment brought down the Empire. You cannot allow it to defeat you, as it did your grandfather.”  

“I understand,” Ren replied.

Ren was lying. He had the same expression he always did when he turned evasive, where his eyes kept scanning the room as if he were looking for a way out. Snoke was probably too much of an alien to even detect it.

“Do not tarry any longer on that planet,” Snoke said. “Bring the Zabrak woman to me.”

“As you wish.”

* * *

Being jostled awake by Ren getting out of bed was a little better than dreaming of being smothered. Hux rolled into the warm spot Ren had left behind, drowsily watching him get dressed.

“You should go back to sleep,” Ren said when he noticed Hux was awake. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“So why are you up?”

“A nightmare.” Ren flexed his fingers as he pulled on his gloves, seeming tense. “Did you dream at all?”

The sight of Ren’s hands felt like a half-triggered memory, but nothing came. “I can’t remember.”

“Good. I worried that—” Ren cut himself off. “Something is restless in the Force. I need to find out what it is.”

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Whatever had disturbed Ren, it wouldn’t be good for Hux either.

Going down on one knee, Ren kissed Hux slowly and with a possessive hint of teeth. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right back,” he said, and gave a quick smile.

Falling asleep while Ren was tramping around looking for unspecified restlessness was impossible. Hux put his clothes back on, glaring down at every wrinkle they’d gotten from lying on the floor as he buckled on his blaster belt. Ren had left his loaned blaster behind, of course. Properly awake, he was even more annoyed that Ren had wandered off without telling Hux what was happening. What would Ren even consider a nightmare? His life already bordered on a horror holo.

He wasn’t entirely alone when he stepped outside. Corporal Qera was nearby, leaning against one of the modules, smoking a cigarette. She was one of the last of her kind, enlisting just before the first cohort of his father’s stormtroopers had matured. Qera straightened her back and saluted when Hux approached.

“Are you drunk, Corporal?” he asked.

She dropped the cigarette and stamped it out with her boot. “I’m an off-duty Marine, sir,” she replied proudly.

“Don’t get complacent. Morag’s people are reliable, but we’re still on Rattatak.”

Qera nodded. “Did the Jedi sense something wrong? I saw him leave the compound a few minutes ago.”

“He’s not a Jedi. But yes, he did.”

“Is he a Sith, then?” she whispered.

“I don’t fucking know what he is,” Hux said coolly. “Stay on alert.”  

The compound’s security klaxons howled for only a second until the rumble of exploding ordnance drowned them out. Hux had never been so close to combat before—promising officers weren’t sent on pacification campaigns—and he froze.

“Duck!” Qera shouted, tackling Hux to the ground. A speeder screamed past them, opening fire on a Rattataki who had just emerged from a module, sending him flying backwards. Qera already had her rifle out, firing as soon as she had a clear line of sight, taking out the attacker with a single shot to the head. Riderless, the speeder careened out of their view.

“Damn, we could’ve used that one,” Qera muttered.

“We need to run,” Hux said.

“Agreed, sir.”

They both scrambled to their feet and turned towards the south, where most of the speeders were stored, along with Morag’s railguns. Hux could hear them stirring to life with an electromagnetic crackle as the first rounds were fired.

Morag’s voice cut in over Hux’s comm. “Hux, there aren’t many of them, but they’re here for you. They snagged the other redhead and shot him when they got a good look at his face. Can you get to the railguns?”

“Already on my way. What the hell’s wrong with your security?”

“They’ve got Republican tech on them. Rode in complete darkness and had sensor jammers.”

Yet another sign that someone was leaking information to the Republic. Hux ordered a retreat over the comm, talking over the rest of the frantic chatter. Some of his people were already helping with the defense at the speeders.

“It’s hairier than a Wookiee out here, but we’ll hold the bikes until you arrive,” replied a sergeant. “Fuck! Incoming—”

With another distant rumble, the line went dead and smoke started to rise from the south. “It’s too late,” Hux said. “I’m calling for the airstrike.” It would be precise, immediate, and leave Hux unscathed. Of course, everything and everyone else would be shot to ashes. “Qera, take point.”

Hux ducked behind a supply crate so he could begin inputting the strike code. He was halfway through it when the air cracked and he felt something hot spatter against his face.

Qera, headless, slumped over in front of him. He whirled around, reaching for his blaster.

“Nah,” Iona said, knocking the blaster out of his hands with her force pike and hitting him square in the chest. Every nerve in his body flared and his heart felt like it would burst through his chest, then he blacked out.

* * *

The first thing he did when he regained consciousness was fight off nausea. Being hit with the force pike was like having his muscles ground up and his head split open. He was too dizzy to stand up, the room spinning around him as if he were drunk. But at least someone had wiped the bits of Qera’s skull off his face.

Hux was on the floor of a jail cell. There was a bed and a toilet. No windows, and no easy means of escape. He’d been stripped of his chrono and comm units, including the one Ren had given him, which he’d kept hidden in his boot. The attack had been so fast Hux hadn’t had time to consider what had happened to Ren; whether he’d been caught in the first wave, or returned to find the compound aflame. Hux had no idea if Ren was any good in a fight, but he’d been completely unarmed. The Force could only do so much.

Luckily, he’d left the holocube in a safe in his hotel room. Running his tongue over his back teeth, he found the molar with the tracking device still there. So the First Order could find him, assuming anyone had survived the attack on the compound. Without knowing how long he’d been unconscious, Hux had twelve hours at most before the device sent out a distress signal to High Command and initiated a search and pacify. Morag, if she was still alive, knew what that meant.

As the door slid open, Hux scrambled away from it, pressing himself against the wall. Iona again, force pike strapped to her back. “General Hux,” she drawled, crouching down next to him, her weight on the balls of her feet. Her face was distorted by her Zabrak tattoos and her hairline was marred by horns. The most unsettling part was her yellow eyes. At least Hux was used to how Rattataki were hideous. “I thought it’d be harder to bring you in.”   

“Just because I’m here doesn’t mean you’ve succeeded. Who are you working for? General Organa?”

“Might be. There’s a lot of people willing to pay for you, and I’m shopping around for the best offer. The First Order doesn’t do ransoms, does it?”

“No.”

Iona clicked her tongue against her teeth. “You surprised me with that Force-user. He turned my speeder into a hunk of scrap, but he went down to Mahran venom just like everybody else does. It can take up to forty-five minutes to die. Agony that makes that little tap I gave you with my pike feel like getting tickled. Huh—did you like him? Your skinny human face’s gone all pale. Paler, that is.”

Forty-five minutes. “Did you see him die?”

“I didn’t have to. Mahran venom’s always lethal. He was twitching like a pinned bug when I left. Did he have a lightsaber? I collect them, y’know.” Iona snapped her fingers in his face when Hux didn’t answer her. “Just a yes or no, General. Answer me.”

He wouldn’t even give her the satisfaction of an insult. Iona slapped him across the face, making his ear ring. She was looking to humiliate him, not hurt him. Hux couldn’t keep the image of Ren scrabbling in the dirt out of his head, gritting his teeth against the pain. Waiting to die. Iona hit him a few more times before she grew bored and left.

Overconfidence and sheer stupid desire had led to this, he thought as he brought up his knees and rested his dizzy head against them. Hux had convinced himself that he knew Rattatak so well that he could linger with Ren without risking anything. Ren had died because of it, and Hux would either be delivered to the enemy or see the planet razed by the First Order’s wrath.

Good. Hux would oversee the destruction himself. He only had to wait for his people to find him, then his forces would turn every city to a ruin. It would feel cleansing to render every sign of his weakness into a warning for the border worlds.

He hoped that Ren would be pleased to have a whole planet for a mausoleum.


	6. children are our future

Having Snoke in his dreams always left Kylo feeling carved out and scraped away. In his contrition, Kylo must have sent his mind searching for the consolation only Snoke could give him. But Snoke’s words had been exactly as Kylo feared. _I may yet ask for Hux’s death_.. Snoke had made Kylo from Ben’s inferior clay, and Kylo knew that even at his weakest, when he felt the light side trying to find its way in, he was no more capable of disobeying Snoke’s wishes than Ben had been to master himself. 

Even if Kylo believed Snoke was wrong. Not wrong that Hux compromised Kylo, for he did, but wrong to think that Hux should die because of Kylo’s failings. Hux was too important to their goals, to lifting the galaxy out of its endless cycle of decay. Kylo could not purge the doubt from his head as he walked through the trackless scrubland outside of Morag’s compound. He was completely blind in the darkness of Rattatak’s night, but using the Force to see was second-nature to him.

The dream had only been a warning, given in kindness. Kylo could still prove his strength by offering Snoke the Zabrak woman and abasing himself. He was obedient. Snoke took nothing away from him without need.

Kylo had not lied about the Force stirring. There had been no need for Kylo to leave the compound, except that the panic he had felt upon waking had dulled his senses. A little calmer now, undistracted by Hux fitting perfectly at his side, Kylo stood still and opened himself to the Force again. The Force seemed strangely willful, as if it would turn Kylo to do its bidding. It resisted him when he tried to spread his consciousness. Frustrated, Kylo imagined himself as a krayt dragon, tearing at the Force with teeth and claws.

Too late, he found what the Force had been hiding from him. Just over two dozen people, moving fast on silenced speeders, heading for the compound. The leader felt familiar to him, and he reached for their speeder in the dark, closing his hand into a fist as the speeder collapsed and threw its rider. As the rider called on the Force to land safely, Kylo realized his prey had come to him.

“Don’t turn on the lights!” Iona shouted in Huttese. “Keep your night-goggles on!”

“Is it an animal?”

Too many people were searching for Kylo for him to conceal himself with the Force. Iona was on him in an instant, striking out with her force-pike and pressing him hard. Without any way to block her, Kylo could only retreat and try to turn her blows. On a different night, with the Force fully under his control, even that would have been easy.

“Single shot, left leg!” Iona commanded.

Kylo dodged out of the way of the first bolt, but not the second. Hit in the right thigh, Kylo let the pain refocus his power. He yanked the force-pike out of Iona’s grip and sent her flying backwards. Lifting up his hands, he seized two of the speeders and sent them crashing into the others. Kylo barely had time to turn before Iona barreled into him again, slamming her armored shoulder against his collarbone, cracking it. Killing her would be easier than taking her alive—but her corpse would be of no use to Snoke. He grabbed Iona by the throat and held her in front of him, shielding himself from her men’s blasters. Her hand jerked up to prick his wrist with a needle.

The poison raced up his hand. He released Iona, his body out of his control as he felt every nerve light with an entirely new agony. Paralysis set in, worse than the pain. Kylo collapsed to his knees, barely able to hold himself upright.

“I win,” Iona said, rubbing at her throat. “That’s venom from a dead planet. It’ll take a while to kill you. Normally I stick around for the show, but I’ve got a bigwig to kidnap.”

She was after Hux. Kylo groaned, his mouth filling with spit as he lost the ability to swallow. He wanted to rip Iona’s heart out, but instead she picked up her force-pike and ordered everyone to leave. Falling onto his side, at least Kylo spared himself from dying face-down in the dirt.

He would not submit yet. Though his body was failing, the venom had not touched his connection to the Force. Kylo reached deeply into himself, looking for even the smallest trace of peace. Ben had had so little of it, and Kylo none.

Luke sitting with Ben, guiding him into meditation for the first time. “The Force runs strong in our family,” Luke says. Ben’s hands are still small inside Luke’s. “It flows in you, in your mother, and in our grandfather. The Force will always be your greatest ally. Though you are only one being, you are part of a galaxy with so much life in it. You are a cup to be filled, Ben.”

Kylo took that moment and dwelled inside it. His body was whole, healthy. Ben had lived through the Force, as Kylo lived through it now. Poison could be manipulated like anything else in the universe. He only had to feel where it was. First, he breathed. The venom was just entering his lungs. He pushed it back into his bloodstream as he exhaled. His heart was next. There—now he had more time. Poison wants to flow. Iona’s needle had opened a small tear in a vein, marked by a single drop of blood. Kylo used the Force to direct the venom outwards, all into that drop of blood, making it well up and slide down his wrist.

It felt like he had meditated for hours when Kylo came back to himself in a body wracked by pain. His thigh was still bleeding and his left shoulder felt broken, though he could move his arm. The venom had abused and exhausted every muscle; even Snoke’s training had not been this punishing. But he had to get up. The dark side was already close to him, coiled around the pain, fear, and anger. Kylo dug his thumb into his wounded thigh. The dark side defied limits, so long as Kylo fed it. With no one around to witness it, Kylo could scream.

As Skywalker had said, the Force was Kylo’s ally. It helped him rise to his feet, held him up as he took one step after another on legs that should not have borne his weight. Checking his chrono, he learned that he had lost twenty minutes to Iona’s poison. An explosion came from the southern part of the compound, lighting up his way back. Kylo pushed himself even harder.

He entered the compound through the hole Iona’s gang had blown through the wall. There were dead bodies along the way, mostly Morag’s Rattataki. Soon they shifted to other aliens, killed after the initial ambush. The survivors were gathered around the wrecked speeders. Half of the First Order soldiers had made it. They were all morosely contemplating the ruined hyperwave relay while the Rattataki were repairing the speeders. Morag had a few plasma burns, like most of the other survivors. She paused her long string of orders as soon as she saw Kylo.

“What the hell happened to you?” Morag snarled. 

“I need bacta,” Kylo said, his voice hoarse, “and a working speeder.”

“We’ve only got one, but I’m not giving it to you. Hux is gone, and you’re half-dead. More than that—two-thirds.”

“You failed Hux already,” Kylo replied, allowing himself to lean against what was left of a module wall. He could conserve his strength now. “I won’t.”

With a snort, Morag brought him a bacta patch and handed him a vibroknife. The blaster that hit him had been on a low-power setting, making for a messier wound. It was only partially cauterized and some of the fabric of his pants had burned into his skin. Kylo grit his teeth and ripped off what he could, then used the knife to cut away the rest.

“Okay, I’m impressed at your tolerance, but there’s still some numb-spray left,” Morag said.

He sealed the bacta patch over his thigh, his skin feeling pinched as soon as the bacta started working. “No. Pain centers me.”

“You know why no one fucks with the First Order brass, Ren?” Morag stepped closer, leaving Kylo little space, though she had to tilt her head up to look him in the eye. “Hux has a tracker somewhere in his body, and if he’s cut off from giving it the ‘all clear’ signal once every twenty-four hours, that tracker sends a message to Hux’s best buddies in High Command. That sets off a ‘pacification.’ It’s what the First Order calls clearing a planet of sentient beings.” She chewed at her lip. “They might leave a few alive to provide slave labor.”

There were rumors that that was how the First Order had secured itself in the Unknown Regions. It was not so different from how the cartels managed the Outer Rim, when it was unprofitable for the Republic to send security. The First Order simply did it faster. But the Rattataki supported the First Order; the planet was almost one of their colonies in all but name. And Hux thought of Morag as a friend. “He would let them do that?”

Crossing her arms, she said, “Probably. It’d be out of his hands, though. No one insults the First Order by threatening its commanders. They’ll send a squad to retrieve him, and whether Hux is dead or alive, Rattatak has to pay for that insult. We might already be too late to stop it. Do you really think you’ll do any better at getting Hux back than I will? Because if you believe that, you can take the speeder.”

“Yes. Which direction did the attackers go?”

“Towards the port.” Morag looked over Kylo with a frown, then handed him the keys to the speeder. “Force help us.”

“It will.”

* * *

While the gyros on the speeder were damaged, the engine was not. The speeder yawed from side to side as Kylo kept accelerating. Every movement jostled his injured shoulder. Kylo made it back to the city in thirty minutes, just as he had bragged to Hux he could. The concierge at the hotel took in Kylo’s appearance and began to call for security.

“No,” Kylo commanded, walking past.

His luggage had already been moved to Hux’s room. He yanked off his ruined clothes and took out his heavy black robe and body armor. It was difficult to put on by himself, made worse by his nearly useless left arm. When he finished, he was covered from neck to toe, leaving nothing exposed to another needle trick or a stray bolt.

Kylo dropped into meditation. The Force rushed in, feasting on the rage that had been driving him. He gave it everything it wanted, even the grief that lived under Ben’s skin, letting his consciousness extend outwards. Searching for someone felt exactly like falling. He thought of Hux and the distinct mark he made in the Force. Hux would be raw anger right now, drawing the dark side towards him like a moth to a light.

East. Hux was in the east, somewhere underground. His mind was consumed with thoughts of the planet aflame, but he seemed unharmed. The brief contact was all Kylo needed for the Force to lead him the rest of the way. Unaware of Hux’s tracker, Iona had fortified herself somewhere instead of fleeing off-planet immediately.

He clipped his lightsaber to his belt. The crossguards made it impossible for him to wear concealed, but he rarely needed it. His helmet was last, air hissing through as it sealed itself into place before he pulled down his cowl. It was easier to misdirect people dressed as he was, because they already did not want to see him. He walked back through the hotel lobby without notice.

The speeders in the hotel garage were all rented garbage, except for an old swoop bike. Hotwiring it made Kylo lose a few minutes; Han Solo had taught it to Ben “just in case you lose your keys, kid.” Ben’s memories were too close to Kylo’s today, surfacing through the humiliating defeat and his fear that Hux would be taken from him.

Soon, Kylo could feel like himself again. The swoop lapped up the kilometers, taking him away from the city and into a rambling slum. He nearly sped past Iona’s hideout—it was just an ordinary prefab shack, guarded by a bored kid who was trying not to look like his hands kept jerking towards his blaster at every noise. Kylo halted the swoop and stepped out.

“Stay back,” the boy said, bringing up his blaster. “The fuck are you?”

Kylo kept walking forward. “I’m here for the prisoner.” His voice was altered by the vocoder, pitched lower and growling.

“I said stay back!” The boy’s finger dropped to the trigger. Kylo froze him in place.

“I don’t have time for this.” Pressing his hand to the boy’s face, Kylo said, “Where was the prisoner taken?”

The dark side ripped into the boy’s mind. Iona had carried Hux’s unconscious body over her shoulder. That was all the boy had seen. Kylo dragged him inside the shack, empty except for a locked trapdoor.

“Enter the combination,” Kylo said, shoving him to the ground. The boy kneeled and fumbled the combination a few times because his hands were shaking, but the door finally opened. “Now shoot yourself in the head.” Kylo would take no chances. The sound of the blaster muffled Kylo’s first step down the stairs.

He was in a poorly lit, narrow tunnel. It would have been easy to defend against anyone but Kylo. No alarms went off, but he could hear distant shouting and sense some of Iona’s men beginning to move. He ignited his lightsaber, listening to its familiar growl as he walked forwards.

The first defender Kylo took by complete surprise. She had turned the corner to investigate the sound, and Kylo slashed across her throat before she could call for help. The second knew Kylo was coming, had one hand on his comlink as he fired his blaster. Kylo blocked the bolt with his saber and used the Force to throw him against the wall, his broken skull leaving a trail of blood behind. The battle droid was more difficult. Less soft parts. But Kylo could still crush and brutalize it.

This was the power Vader had: to spread terror and death in service to the Empire. Had Sidious been a better man, Vader could have brought lasting peace to the galaxy. Sidious had possessed no loyalty or vision. Hux was different.

The tunnel kept forking and turning. People were beginning to retreat rather than take a stand. Unable to run, Kylo relied on the Force to kill them. Snapping their necks was efficient, though it lacked in violence. Kylo had to keep himself enfolded by the dark side or his strength would leave him. His leg injury was a growing problem. The more he walked, the clumsier his footwork became. There was too much tissue damage for Kylo’s will to overcome it completely.

After his twelfth kill, the tunnel opened up into a furnished common room. There were still a few unfinished meals left on the cafeteria table, and the viewscreens were set to a Weequay holoserial and a shockboxing match. Only Iona had stayed behind. She held her force pike in a two-handed grip, her face hidden by a helmet made of the same cortosis as the rest of her armor. If his lightsaber made contact with cortosis, it would cause a short. The effect might be even worse on the already unstable kyber crystal. 

“We’ve met before, haven’t we? You feel familiar,” Iona said. She widened her stance, waiting for Kylo to make a move. “I poisoned you. How the hell did you survive?”

Her emotions were hard to read; she knew how to shield herself from the Force, though imperfectly. “Through the training you never had.”

“Who trained you? Not Skywalker. His students are all—”

Snoke had allowed him to burn the bodies. The littlest ones had been so light.

“Dead,” Kylo said. “Where’s the general?”

“On his way to the shuttle out of here, with everyone else. I’m not letting you kill any more of my crew.”

“You’ve already been wrong about me once today.”  

Kylo struck first, crushing her against the wall with the Force. But she resisted, breaking free with a growl. Iona ran towards him, dodging the table he threw across the room to stop her. He raised his saber to block her thrust with the force pike. The shock of the impact traveled all the way to his left shoulder and made it throb painfully. Stepping aside, he let her own momentum throw her off balance and expose her back.

Iona still needed to be taken alive. Kylo slammed the hilt of his lightsaber between her shoulders, nearly sending her sprawling. But she recovered and swung high with her pike. He jerked out of the way just in time. Her reactions were as fast as his, even if her command of the Force was weak.

“I got your shoulder bad, didn’t I?” said Iona, circling him. “Your leg bothering you?”

“And yet you still haven’t beaten me.”

The air whistled as Iona spun the force pike around, aiming for his intact shoulder. She assumed Kylo would not move his injured arm. Pulling from the dark side, Kylo grabbed her force pike with his left hand, ignoring how badly it hurt to overpower her and yank her forward. There was a small gap in her armor plates on her right side. Kylo adjusted his grip on his saber and flicked one of his quillons across the gap, making Iona scream as he cut into her flesh. But then she brought her force pike down on his left shoulder and activated the stun module.

Everything but the Force went silent. Kylo reached for it, coming back to find himself with both hands on his saber, Iona flung to the far side of the room with her helmet crumpled up between them. He had somehow resisted most of the stun’s charge, except he could still feel it crackling through his teeth and making his legs shake.

“Sith monster,” Iona hissed. She took out a stim and injected it straight into her neck, her breathing quickening. “You’re the one who’s been making us disappear. The Jedi Killer. Why? What the hell are you doing with us?”

“Serving my maker.”

Iona darted forward. She raised her force pike high, giving Kylo the perfect opening to block and turn her weapon. As he swung upwards, he saw her feint to the side and throw herself against his lightsaber, sparks flying as the cortosis made contact. The beam flared and extinguished. She had made a mistake, coming so close. Kylo dropped his useless weapon and smashed his armored forehead against her nose. Iona staggered back, blood streaming from her face, and Kylo lifted her up with the Force, slowly crushing her windpipe.

He had to be careful, make her black out instead of killing her outright. Except his control was so thin, worn down by how far he had pushed his body, drawing on the dark side until he could feel it trying to take Iona’s life. Kylo wrestled with it while Iona struggled, gasping as blood kept gushing from her broken nose and her eyes went slowly red with burst vessels. She was still directing her will towards breaking Kylo’s grip, though nothing could stop him now. Too late, Kylo realized the stim had damaged her racing heart. The dark side descended on her like a shroud as she went into a heart attack. Kylo released her. Her life had gone out of his hands, and the Force took it.

Someone was behind him. Armed, ready to fire, and terrified. But he knew who it was. “How much did you see?” Kylo asked, turning to face him.

Hux had aimed the blaster at Kylo’s head, finger on the trigger. There was a cut on his cheek and his shirt was dusted with someone else’s blood. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“But you are. I sense it.” Kylo took a step forward, stumbling a little on his wounded leg. “Do you not know me?”     

He took another step, and Hux fired. Kylo redirected the bolt and wrenched Hux’s blaster out of his hold. Hux’s eyes widened, his mouth tightening. Still, most of his fear was hidden. He had control, even now, when he thought he was looking at his death. Kylo drove Hux back with each step, until Hux’s shoulders were square against the wall and he was staring defiantly at Kylo’s mask. Iona had probably bled on it. “Take off my helmet,” Kylo said.

Hesitantly, Hux reached for the underside of the mask. He dragged his fingers along Kylo’s jaw, feeling for the releases and flicking them open. The mask unsealed. Kylo was briefly blinded while Hux carefully lifted up the helmet.

“She told me that she’d left you to die,” Hux said, dropping the helmet in surprise. Hux’s emotions were a flood, dragging Kylo in with him. Despair had fed Hux’s anger, shame and regret clattering around his mind until Hux had nearly suffocated under it. But there was no fear now, though Kylo felt Hux’s feelings shifting, turning into something far worse and more dangerous. Raising his hands to Kylo’s face, Hux leaned forward to kiss him, gentler than he had ever been.

Hux loved him. The realization was a blade sliding between Kylo’s ribs, because it was not allowed.

When Hux pulled back, Kylo tried to follow him, stopped by Hux’s fingers on his lips. “I need your comm,” Hux said. Kylo fumbled a little as he took it out. Snatching the comm out of his hands, Hux entered a quick sequence of numbers. “There, the tracker’s reset. Sit down—you look like absolute shit.”

“I was poisoned, shot, and beaten.” Hux winced at each word. And now that Hux was safe, Kylo was feeling all of them. Perhaps what he had sensed from Hux was a delusion, brought on by Kylo pushing himself too far. Hux might be in shock.

Kylo took a seat on a nearby bench, dizziness settling in as soon as he was off his feet. “How did you escape?”

Hux kept one eye on Kylo as he texted Morag. Concern was rolling off him, though Hux kept his expression grimly displeased. Kylo wished he could close himself off from Hux’s thoughts completely. From everything. He was too weak to be who he needed to be.

“My blaster’s locked to my DNA,” said Hux. “It’s also very, very nice, so my guard helped himself to it. And when the order came to evacuate, I dived for the first discarded blaster when we were alone.” Sitting next to Kylo, Hux added quietly, “I’ve never killed anyone personally before.”  

“You’ll stop feeling it.” Kylo’s vision was blurring. He had to stay conscious until help came. What if some of Iona’s people had stayed behind instead of evacuating? Hux was no fighter. Kylo put his head between his legs and tried to control his breathing.

“Ren? What are you doing?”

“Passing out.”

Hux said something else, but between the ringing in his ears and the distracting way Hux was touching his back, Kylo had no idea what Hux was telling him. Probably not to pass out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "cup to be filled" metaphor comes from something Luke taught Leia in _Aftermath: Life Debt_.


	7. test your loyalty

Death was something Hux had thought he was familiar with. Practiced with it, even. Hux gave orders, and then someone died. That was all death needed to be—it happened because Hux needed it to happen, always out of sight. The only time Hux had seen death before his own eyes had been when he was eight years old, during the First Famine. Hux never went hungry, but most of his classmates did. The girl who sat in front of him rested her head on her desk and never rose again.

What stayed with Hux was how the dead slumped over, flesh and blood drained of their purpose. The girl, then Corporal Qera, the Rattataki guard, and now Ren. Hux caught him before he fell. Ren was already heavy, but his robes seemed to add twenty kilos as Hux awkwardly lowered him to the ground. At least Ren was still breathing, unlike in Hux’s long nightmare ever since he had been captured. Hux tore off one of Ren’s gloves so he could feel for his heartbeat. It was steady.

He knew the stories about Vader’s savagery, how he could tear through entire companies of soldiers and crush the life out of the Empire’s disappointments. But Vader had been mostly machine; Ren still had his humanity underneath the forbidding black mask. “How does it feel, to have all that power?” Hux said, brushing his knuckles against Ren’s cheek. For just a moment, he indulged the pathetic thought of curling up at Ren’s side and waiting for him to wake up.

The comm went off, Morag’s voice coming in clear. “Hey kiddo, we’ve got four speeders operational, so we’re heading out. Are you safe where you are?”

“Probably, but Ren’s unconscious and needs a doctor.”

“Shit.” Morag added a few words in Rattataki. “Is it bad?”

“I don’t know. Just hurry.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

The sound of a shuttle taking off was Hux’s signal to move. He searched the room for a medkit first, finding nothing but meal packets and used spice ampoules. Typical poor planning from a pack of bounty hunters. Outright criminals were usually much better organized. And no matter how much they prattled about protecting their clients’ information, bounty hunters were lousy about security too. Iona wouldn’t have had time to scrub all the data from her contacts. The big terminal at the back of the room looked unused, but the datapad left on top of it probably had something. Hux fetched it quickly, picking his blaster up off the floor on his way.  

_DEVICE LOCKED. ENTER PASSWORD OR ACTIVATE VOICE ID._

“Oh, fuck you,” Hux muttered. “Kath-spawning Nexu-spitter.”

Hux entered a sequence of nonsense passwords until the datapad flashed a new message: _VERIFY IDENTIFICATION WITH THUMBPRINT._ Conveniently, Iona was in no position to resist. He went to her body and gingerly pressed her cooling thumb to the datapad. His skin crawled at having to touch a corpse. _UNLOCKED. ENTER NEW PASSWORD._

It had been too easy. The datapad should explode in his hand. But it didn’t. Hux settled down next to Ren, needing to hear any changes in his breathing. Pulling up Iona’s emails, he saw that Leia Organa’s entanglement with the First Order was even more insidious than Hux had expected. She had left no direct traces of her connection to Iona, but there was a three-day old message from an agent he had already identified as Organa’s. It was a list of his contacts on Rattatak, with a few rough details about Morag’s compound. Combined with the knowledge of the Starkiller project, that left Hux with a small pool of potential traitors, all of them commanders and administrators. Hux rested his chin on his hand, leaning forward with interest as he started to go through every scrap of Iona’s correspondence. He was so focused that he jumped when his comm went off again.

“We’re in,” Morag said. “Great gods did Ren leave a mess behind him.” 

* * *

Seven humans had been killed in the assault on the compound, leaving Hux with a little over half of the people he’d brought to Rattatak. They moved into a smaller hotel which would be easier to secure. As much as Hux wanted to return to First Order space immediately, an early departure would alert the traitor to the failed attack.

Ren was given a room to himself. In the alien doctor’s ‘expert’ opinion, Ren had fainted of exhaustion. But it had been hours, and he still wasn’t conscious. “Nothing to worry about,” said the Siniteen, its hideously overgrown brain seeming to jiggle as it toyed with Ren’s heart monitor. “The IV is going to take care of his dehydration. The collarbone’s not broken all the way through, so have him keep the brace on for a few days and let the bone stabilizer do its work. Now, the thigh injury is… more inconvenient. I had to debride it and cover it in ReNu-skin. It’s going to hurt, especially if he puts any weight on that leg. Make him use a cane.”

“If he’s fine, then why isn’t he awake?” Hux demanded.

The Siniteen held up its hands. “Human biology’s always so unpredictable.”

“It’s superior.”

“If you insist,” it replied. “I’m leaving my assistant with him. Good day.”

The Rattataki nurse waved at Hux, barely looking up from the game he was playing on his datapad. Hux wasn’t a doctor and couldn’t make up for negligent, backwater medicine by hovering around Ren. He followed the Siniteen out and arranged for its outrageously expensive payment before he returned to his own room.

Hux had set up a holo display while Ren had been in surgery, projecting his notes and all the evidence he had found in Iona’s datapad. Morag was sitting in front of it and reading, hands behind her head as she leaned back in her chair. “I’ve narrowed the potential traitors down to six,” Hux said, pressing a button to switch to their personnel records.

“Nice job,” she said. “Any with motivation?”

“Half of them have been booked for crimes against the state,” Hux said. “This one has five children, so she’s loyal to the First Order, but perhaps not to me.” He stared at the six holos, finding nothing out of the ordinary. “How the hell did this happen?”

“Money gets your foot in the door,” Morag replied. “Iona was on Organa’s payroll first, though she was waiting on a bigger bounty from a cartel. Stupid of her, even with our long-distance comms and transport taken out. You gotta offload top brass like that,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Are any of these guys gamblers?”

“Two, actually.” Hux dimmed the other profiles on the screen. “We’ll see if we can eliminate either of them.”

What did Organa have to offer a traitor? Not simply money—her promised payment for Hux’s life had been cheap. The Rebel Republic still had its ideals to sell, despite its corrupt reality. Hux had to cross-reference who most needed the Republic’s lies with who had the opportunity. Anyone he couldn’t eliminate for certain would have to be captured and interrogated. Then executed, because someone who’d been tortured by their own side would have compromised loyalty.

It took hours to narrow down the possibilities to two people: one of the gamblers, and the family woman. The gambler needed credits badly, lacked family ties, and had racked up so many warnings for homosexuality and xenophilia that even his position as quartermaster couldn’t protect him from being assigned to reeducation. The mother of five was the liaison officer to Rattatak, and two of her children were serving twenty year sentences of hard labor for political dissent.  

Organa might have both of them under her thumb. There was also the chance that Hux had gotten everything wrong, and the traitor was someone he hadn’t even suspected. “I’m tired of handling this from the back end,” Hux said. “We need an in with General Organa, so we can act directly.”

“She’s your boyfriend’s mother. We already have an in.”

He ignored Morag’s grating word choice. “They’re estranged. You think she still cares?”

“A few months ago, Organa ended up at the same charity event as Ren. As soon as he saw her, he dashed away and Organa chased after him. Someone even made a browser game out of it. Hold on, I’ll pull it up—it’s hilarious.”

The door buzzed and slid open. Hux readied himself to chastise whomever had come in when he’d requested not to be disturbed, but words left him when he saw that it was Ren. His skin was almost the same color as his gray tunic, his eyes so darkly circled that they seemed bruised. But he was alive, and on his feet again.

Hux stiffly clasped his hands behind his back. “That useless nurse didn’t inform me that you were conscious.”

“I told him not to. I wanted time to eat and dress before speaking to anyone.” Ren walked up to the table, eyes skimming over all the data. Although he wasn’t using the recommended cane, he at least had the sense to favor his good leg. “I’ll help you with Organa, though it won’t be easy. She doesn’t trust me.”

“I didn’t think you could scare me even more than you already did with the mindreading,” Morag said, “but then you went on a killing spree.”

“I don’t scare you,” Ren replied.

Morag snorted and got to her feet. Squeezing him on his uninjured shoulder, she said, “Glad to see you back from the dead, kid. I’ll leave you two to talk things out.”

Ren winced, leaning against the table as the door closed behind her.

“You should be sitting down,” Hux said, turning off the holo display. “Your injuries—”  

“Aren’t why I lost consciousness. It was the dark side. I asked for too much from it, for too long.” Ren paused, staring down at the blank table. “Ask me about Skywalker’s school.” 

Hux wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Ren after he awoke, but this wasn’t it. “I know you killed them all. I don’t care.”

“Why?” Ren said, looking to Hux in surprise. “Most of them were children.”

There had been a dead child outside Iona’s hideout, probably no more than twelve. He’d shot himself in the head. It was clearly Ren’s work, but now wasn’t the time to bring up any hypocrisy. “War has its demands. Would the galaxy be any safer, if the Jedi returned?”

“They cannot.”

“Then Skywalker’s students had to die. Morality has no place in the long term.” That had been one of his father’s favorite sayings, whenever Hux asked why something that seemed cruel had to be done. Then, because Ren had more than earned the truth, he added, “It’s why Starkiller Base is being built.”

“What is it?”

Ren’s interest was palpable. Hux had suspected that the Starkiller was how he had first earned Ren’s attention, and the unanswered question had hung between them like a hostage. It was Hux’s last bargaining chip, though he realized now that Ren could have taken the knowledge whenever he wanted. Perhaps that had been Snoke’s original plan, before Ren decided he’d rather throw the galaxy at Hux’s feet.

“The Starkiller is a mobile battle station that can wipe out an entire system. It’s a weapon that only needs to be fired once, because fear will do the rest. We can end war forever.”

“Through an atrocity,” Ren said.  

Hux had seen it that way too, when he had first heard of it. Sloane and Sere had been against the Starkiller and dismissed it out of hand. They had disapproved of the Death Stars as well. But Hux’s father had swayed enough of High Command into seeing the usefulness of the Starkiller’s scale.

“The galaxy is sick, so the wound must be excised. Personal scruples can’t be weighed against bringing peace and prosperity.”  

Looking down at his hands, Ren replied quietly, “I have trouble achieving that kind of view. It’s why I need you. It’s why I must serve, instead of rule. I need guidance.”

He could hear Snoke saying those words to Ren, breaking him down until he believed them. It was as horrifying as it was enthralling to think that Ren was so ready to be mastered. Hux had to reach out for him, drawing him close as he wrapped his arms around Ren’s waist and tucked his head against Ren’s neck, feeling his heart beat faster. He wondered what Ren made of his thoughts, or if he could tell the difference between Hux’s lust for Ren’s powers and the simpler one for his body. Hux could not disentangle them.   

“Am I yours?” Ren asked.

“Yes, you’re mine.” Hux would make sure of it.

The new hotel room was smaller than the last, and they were only a few steps from the bed. Ren pushed him towards it, tangling his fingers in Hux’s hair and kissing his face. “Help me out of my clothes,” Ren said, letting go of Hux so he could sit down.

Hux did as he was asked, guiltily taking in the brace and Ren’s bandaged thigh. “We should wait.”

“No time,” Ren replied, pulling Hux into bed with him. “We’re leaving tomorrow, and I want you now.”

Ren yanked Hux closer, until he could press his teeth to Hux’s throat and leave a bruise just below the line of Hux’s uniform collar. It would match the one Ren had given him in the refresher. He wanted even more of them. Hux groaned and shifted, feeling Ren’s uninjured thigh pressing against his cock. After attempting to unbutton Hux’s shirt one-handed, Ren used the Force to rip it down the middle.

Hux wasn’t sure who had started the kiss, only that Ren’s lips were on his and he was clumsy, needier than he was anything else. Then Hux felt a sharp pain in his cheek and gasped into Ren’s mouth as Ren dragged his thumbnail over the scab of Hux’s healing cut, opening it anew. Ren licked at the blood, which was clear lunacy and Hux had never felt so desired in his life.

“You told me to try harder at drawing blood,” Ren said.

“I did. Great fucking hell, Kylo, I can see it on your lips.”

Ren grinned. “You’re mine too.” Hux _was_ , and he loathed how much he wanted to hear Ren say it over and over again. “I like hearing you call me Kylo. I’ll tell everyone else who uses it to stop. Should I call you Armitage?”

“Don’t. No one’s ever called me that.” Except for his mother, who might be dead or alive and Hux hoped the witch was the former.

“Hux, then,” Ren murmured, running his hand along Hux’s side before he palmed Hux’s dick through his trousers. “Fuck me. Make me feel it.”

They should do something gentler. He could give Ren a blowjob and then take care of his own needs without aggravating any injuries. Nonetheless, Hux tugged off the rest of his clothes and reached into the nightstand, looking for the lubricant that was in every Rattataki port hotel, because why else would anyone stay on the planet? He found it easily enough, using it to slick up his cock while Ren watched him. Ren drew up his good leg, looking like a more battered version of the pornographic holovids Hux had wanked to at the research outpost.   

“I’d let you take a holo,” said Ren, echoing their earlier conversation. “It wouldn’t even be a scandal.”

“Please,” Hux replied, far too quickly as he positioned himself between Ren’s spread legs.

Ren bit his lip as Hux forced one finger into his hole; he was exquisitely tight, probably from the pain he was already in. “I’d make it elaborate,” Ren said, tugging at Hux’s wrist so he would add another finger, “so you couldn’t think of anyone else either.”

“I already fucking can’t.” Hux crooked his fingers against Ren’s prostate, making him arch his back and groan. “You’re so tight I’m not sure I can even fit.”

“It’s fine. I’m ready.”

“You’re not.” But Hux took out his fingers anyway, letting Ren hook his legs over his elbows. Apologetically stroking Ren’s wounded thigh, Hux reached down to guide his cock, listening to Ren’s ragged breathing as he slowly pushed in. Ren fisted his hand in Hux’s hair, tugging his head down for a kiss and gasping when Hux thrust all the way inside. He gave Ren a few moments to relax before he moved again, sliding in and out of him while he was still almost uncomfortably tight. Hux was seized by the thought that Ren was laid out just for him, deadly and strange and willing. Letting go of Hux’s hair, Ren grabbed at his ass instead, spreading his fingers and trying to somehow bring Hux deeper.

“Harder,” Ren pleaded. Hux shifted more of his weight to his right arm so he could use his left to lift Ren’s leg up and change the angle. His reward was seeing Ren toss his head, brows furrowing in pleasure.

But it was draining. “I’m too close already,” Hux said, breathing heavily. “Do that trick you did last time, where you wouldn’t let me come.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Just say the damn words.”

Ren’s eyes had gone half-lidded, irises almost black in the room’s poor lighting. “You can’t come until I do.” His tone was completely flat, yet it felt like each word was burrowing into Hux’s mind and pulling him down.

 “Ah—Kylo, you feel so good you utter bastard, you terror, fuck—” Ren’s hand slipped down so he could touch himself, his arm flexing beneath Hux with each stroke. Hux hung his head, pressing himself to Ren’s cheek and gripping him by the hair, needing to anchor himself against the way his own body was denying him. He had his release when Ren suddenly went still, and Hux came until he felt emptied and exhausted. Hux gratefully collapsed on Ren’s chest, ignoring how sticky it was. Ren swiped his hand across Hux’s forehead, wiping off the sweat.

“Not all of us have the Force and ninety kilos of muscle to work with,” Hux said. “I think I’m going to sleep here.”

“I wouldn’t mind, though you snore sometimes.”

Hux hadn’t known. “My nose must not have set right after it was hit. The man who did it’s dead now.”

“Good.” Pinching his fingers around Hux’s wrist and lifting it up, Ren said, “Your dick’s almost as thick as your wrist.”

“That’s not much of a compliment, with my build.”

“It is when my ass hurts.”

Hux chuckled. “You asked for it.”

Tired as he was, Hux got up and started to look for something to wipe himself off. He hated the mess left after sex. Ren clearly didn’t care, and would probably lick Hux clean if he asked, which was tempting. Hux ended up using the top blanket and passed it off to Ren. “I’m ordering room service,” Hux said, “and then I have to get back to the damn traitor.”

“I’ll help you after I get that browser game taken down,” Ren replied, using the Force to lift his datapad out of his discarded tunic. “Someone must have put it back up after it was removed everywhere else. The ‘hilarious’ part is when she tries to stick a Padawan braid on me.”

“Will you be alright, speaking to your mother?”

“Would you?” Ren asked, turning to Hux.

“I’d speak to her, if we needed it.”

“Then that’s all that needs to be said.”

Ren had read Hux’s psych profile, knew the awful secret about his mother being no one at all, and then a rebel. She’d handed Hux off to his father like chattel. It would’ve been unfair for Ren to know that, except Ben Organa’s beginnings were all over the HoloNet. He would always be Darth Vader’s grandson, no matter what else he did.

* * *

For once, Hux woke up next to Ren without feeling like he’d dreamed. Ren’s hair was tickling his chin and Hux had fallen asleep with his shoulder at an awkward angle because Ren was taking up so much space. He had to lift his arm out from under Ren’s so he could turn off his datapad’s alarm, making Ren mumble and tighten his hold on Hux.

“Are you awake?” Hux asked.

“No.”

“We need to get up. I have to be off-planet in four hours.”

“Does it take you four hours to dress?”

Hux sighed and disentangled himself from Ren, then grabbed a change of clothes and headed off to the refresher. The hotel’s water heater barely functioned, the pipes hissing when Hux turned the shower setting to ‘hot.’ He gave up on it and angrily stood under the lukewarm stream of water while Ren’s heavy footsteps announced that he’d gotten up. Hux rushed to scrub himself off with what passed for decent soap on Rattatak, swearing he could hear Ren talking to someone quietly. The voices had stopped by the time finished. At least today would be his last day dressing like a civilian. His single relief at returning to the Unknown Regions would be getting back into uniform, since everything else was unpredictable.

When Hux left the ‘fresher, Ren was looking at the holodisplay. The plain tunic he wore didn’t make him look like an ordinary person; he looked more like a Jedi, not that Hux had ever seen one in real life. Only in holos, where they held themselves preternaturally apart, serene without seeming at peace. “Snoke is here,” said Ren. “He wants to meet you, on the ship. It’s nothing to worry about. He’ll ask you about the Starkiller.”

Snoke’s presence made Hux’s hackles rise. “What will he do if I don’t tell him about it?”

“Nothing. It’s me he’ll be displeased with.”

“Will he punish you?”

Avoiding looking Hux in the eye, Ren replied, “You’re mistaken for thinking he’s my master. He’s more like a teacher. A father. It’s not punishment to tell a child you’re disappointed in him. Just a lesson.” 

Hux held himself back from saying that that alien horror was only preying on Ren for his own ends. Snoke had insinuated himself too deeply in Ren’s head. Meeting Snoke in person was a surprise stroke of luck, just as useful as Fairhand’s holocube. Efficient solutions to complex problems came so rarely into Hux’s life.

“I’ll tell him,” Hux said, slipping his arm around Ren’s waist and pressing up against his chest, “though only for your sake.”    

Ren was so easy to manipulate, Hux thought as Ren pulled him tighter and kissed him.

* * *

His first impression of Snoke’s ship was the smell. It was like a medcenter, reeking of bacta and disinfectant. The air was foul underneath, recirculated for too many cycles without a hydroponics bay to refresh it. Otherwise the ship was unremarkable, just a repurposed yacht that had been gutted of its luxury fittings. Some of them had been replaced by a row of bacta tanks, all but one empty. A Bith was floating in the nearest.

“That’s about as creepy as I expected,” Hux said.

“Snoke was betrayed and left for dead.” Ren’s speech had lost all affect since they entered the ship, making him eerily somber. “He since needs to take midi-chlorians from other Force-sensitives in order to preserve his own life.”

Hux raised an eyebrow. “Mini-whats?”

“Midi-chlorians,” Ren repeated, pronouncing the syllables slowly, as if that would make it less silly. “They’re how the living communicate with the Force. It’s not important for you to understand.”

That seemed absolutely important. “I want to understand.”

“Another time. Snoke is waiting for us.”

The menace Hux had expected to feel was absent. Even being in the room with the holoprojector had frightened him, though Snoke had been nowhere near. Ren kept being solicitous, taking every chance to touch Hux as he guided him through the ship. It was like a mutant version of meeting the parents.

“I don’t need to be coddled,” Hux said.

“You used to fear Snoke.”

“I know you better now.”

They came up to a fortified door. There was no lock or opening mechanism that Hux could see. Ren lifted his hand, something snapped into place, and the door slowly lifted up. “Are Snoke’s powers like your own?” Hux asked.

“No one has powers like mine.”

Ren gestured for Hux to go ahead of him. The door slammed back down after Ren stepped through, leaving them sealed in the room. It was an empty circle, with a single light shining down on the center. Beneath it, was Snoke. He was old. Tall, perhaps, if he stood, but he sat in his chair with the boneless look of someone paralyzed.

Face blank as a droid’s, Ren walked up to him, then went on his knees. He tried to move as if he wasn’t wounded, but Hux could still tell he was in pain. He prostrated himself, head nearly brushing against Snoke’s robe, and the sight sent Hux reeling into a memory.

Snoke’s long fingers on Ren’s face as he spoke of tenderness. Ren adoring him, then flinching when Snoke said that Hux might need to die. Hux froze, only long practice keeping his expression perfectly neutral. He wanted to personally grind Snoke’s body under his boot.

“I don’t expect you to kneel, General,” Snoke said.  

“I wouldn’t have.” Hux’s tone was even, despite his fury.

“I know. It is why I have allowed Kylo Ren to bring you here. I hope that I will not be entirely dissatisfied by his time on Rattatak.”

“Supreme Leader,” Ren began, his words coming quickly, “I’m sorry. I was too unskilled to take the Zabrak alive. She had taken a stim, and her heart failed. I’ll find you someone else, even stronger—”

“Enough,” Snoke said. “I forgive you. You may rise.”

“Thank you.” Ren rose slowly, then returned to stand by Hux.

Shifting his alien gaze to Hux, Snoke said, “Tell me about Starkiller Base,”

This was a gamble. But Snoke clearly had no connections to Organa, or anyone in the Republic who had a spine. “It is a mobile battle station capable of destroying five planets at once.”

Seeming unsurprised, Snoke asked, “And what do you intend to do with it?”

Hux was tempted to answer that he was just going to use it to block the sun when he found a planet too hot. It was a stupid question to ask about a weapon. Weapons are fired. “Defeat the Republic.”

Snoke attempted to smile with his warped mouth. “But what is your first target? The Hosnian system, I assume.”

Ren’s eyes flicked over to Hux. Damn Snoke for bringing up the Hosnian system before he was ready to present it to Ren.

“It’s one possibility,” Hux replied. “We haven’t made our decision yet.”

“You don’t have sole control of the weapon.”

“I’m the swing vote, which amounts to the same thing,” Hux snapped.

“If the Hosnian system is destroyed, the Republic will unite. It’s the Senate which divides people and keeps them complacent,” Ren said.

“The Hosnian system also hosts most of the Republican fleet, but I’m not going to argue that point today.”

“I agree,” said Snoke. “There are better times for this. It is enough that we know what the Starkiller can do. Kylo Ren and I will discuss what is best, and then you will cast your vote.”

“Of course,” Hux replied.

Snoke folded his hands together. “Kylo, I must speak to Hux alone. Leave us.”

“As you wish,” Ren said, with a slight bow.

When they were alone, Snoke was even less threatening without Ren to protect him. “There is something you must understand,” Snoke said, while Hux considered snapping his feeble neck for touching Ren like he owned him. “Do you know the legend of Anakin Skywalker?”

“He became Darth Vader.”

“Yes, out of love for Padmé Naberrie, the mother of the children who would grow up to destroy the very Empire Vader had worked to create. Anakin betrayed the Jedi because he feared that Padmé would die, then turned against her just as quickly when he thought she had betrayed him. He killed her. That same impetuous blood flows through Kylo Ren; more than mere blood, though you would not believe me if I told you of destiny.”

Like an old man happy to finally have a captive audience, Snoke kept going. The descent from melodrama to cryptic Force mysticism made the story no better. “If you’re implying I could be Padmé, it’s a terrible comparison. I can’t get pregnant, just to start, and I have no belief in democracy.”

Snoke narrowed his eyes. “Kylo is attached to you. Perhaps he is in love—I have no interest in sorting through human emotions. Attachment is a complication, and Kylo is weak. Volatile. The Jedi wisely banned attachment because it is just as likely to lead to the dark side as it is to bring people to the light. I fear for him, that he will fall to either side and be lost to us. His powers flourish on the knife’s edge. Certainty gives the Force too much of what it desires, and then it will betray its user. You, General, are a being of ambition. You can see the advantage of distancing yourself from him, regardless of personal feelings.”

Hux very well saw the advantage of distancing himself from Ren, but he wasn’t about to take _relationship advice_ from an alien. “I’ll take your words into consideration.”

“Pride can lead many beings astray. As it did to me. Do not think to test which of us Kylo Ren will follow.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No. Only counsel.” Snoke raised his hand, directing Hux towards to the door. “Farewell, General. We need not speak further.”

Hux was happy to wordlessly turn his back and leave. Ren opened the door as Hux approached, sensing his presence. “What did Snoke say to you?” Ren asked as soon as the door was shut.

“Nothing,” Hux replied, challenging Ren to push the question. He didn’t.

As they walked back to the shuttle, Hux held himself a little behind. He waited until they were in a particularly dark corridor to kick the tracker off his boot, sending it on a noiseless slide towards the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: Hux's opinions on midi-chlorians are not my own! I LOVE midi-chlorians!!
> 
> IRL is kicking my ass and taking down its name, so updates may hover closer to ever 3-4 weeks to every 2 weeks in future, though I'm going to try to stick to an every 2 week schedule.
> 
> [Space-emos](http://space-emos.tumblr.com) is trying to murder me and illustrating that scene with the [browser game](http://space-emos.tumblr.com/post/149269618251) and now I am a more complete person.
> 
> [Eehn](http://eehn.tumblr.com) has also contributed to my eventual passing from this world with an illustration of Hux nobly climbing Kylo's ass mountain and going to poundtown [here](http://peehn.tumblr.com/post/149940459289).


	8. traitor's gambit

Kylo took the descent into Republic City too quickly—the shuttle shook as the atmo’s pressure bucked it up. Two warning lights went off from the chassis getting hot enough to spark. He was a good pilot, but not the best, and he was preoccupied.

Republic City was billions of people living somewhere barely twenty years old. It had flourished while Coruscant faded, welcoming refugees from all the galaxy and providing limitless opportunities, until optimism dried up and the inevitable decay descended. The city took him in after Ben died, pulling Kylo into its arms and showing him bright, wild lights where Ben had seen only cold stars. He knew Republic City was a false haven, that it was sweet-smelling rot, but he had never thought that the city might be sacrificed to the future.

The viewport opened up to a view of the city’s skyline, sun glinting off the cloudcutters. Kylo imagined everyone and everything being atomized. He did not think of himself as having friends, but he thought of Varish standing on her balcony, golden fur blowing in the wind of the weapon, squinting her eyes against the red light. Hux had been right, when he said that personal scruples could not be weighed against peace. Kylo was plagued by his conscience. It was like a tumor, taking up space in his head and denying him rest. 

He wished that Snoke had chastised him. That Snoke had talked to him at all, instead of telling him to leave so he could speak to Hux instead. Kylo knew what Snoke was saying without even hearing it; the request to leave had been to spare Hux’s pride. Snoke had long held a place in Kylo’s head, able to pull from Kylo’s memories and know his heart. Because Kylo was weak, Snoke had gone to Hux to do what was needed. Kylo endured the wait for Hux to return because he could do nothing else, and when Hux came back to him, his thoughts were an impenetrable mask of anger. He was as cut off from Kylo as if he were on another planet.

Kylo was ashamed of how he had acted in the shuttle. Clinging to Hux and pressing him against the bulkhead, fumbling Hux’s tunic open and asking him if he thought of Kylo any differently, because he could not bring himself to ask the real question. “Of course I think of you differently,” Hux had told him, fingers digging into Kylo’s nape, guiding his head where he wanted him, “but that’s not a bad thing. Now leave another mark on me before you go.”

The Force was bringing something to an end. It was hanging over his shoulders, obscure and the same hostile unknowable it had always been. He had to act as if he were still Snoke’s favored son, and wait for the blow to fall. Kylo was powerless to affect his own destiny.

“I will submit,” Kylo said, leaving off to whom or what. It was almost rebellion.

* * *

Being away for nearly three days left Kylo with no time to spare for settling himself back into his role of Senator Ren. Garrota met him at the landing dock and helped him with his clothes and make-up before he was seen in public, debriefing him on what he had missed while she worked. He felt so unprepared for speaking with any politicians that he was relieved when the way to his office was blocked. A massive alien was sitting in the center of the waiting room floor, three legs folded and less than half of its seven eyes open. Nature usually favored much more symmetry than that. Instead of showing the alien out, Kylo’s secretary had fallen asleep on top of his desk, using his jacket for a pillow.

“I was about to get to this situation,” Garrota said. “This being has been waiting here for two days. Since they haven’t eaten or slept, we couldn’t force them to leave, according to Senate bylaws. Sarda hasn’t clocked out since they arrived.”

“Wake Sarda up, give him a bonus, and send him home.” Kylo approached the alien, who gradually opened the rest of their eyes as he got closer.

“I apologize for our Basic,” said the alien, rising to their feet and speaking from a toothy mouth set in what Kylo had assumed was their torso. “We are not from your Republic. It is a planet not on your maps. Republic does not want to map it, because then it would have to speak to it.”

So the alien was from the Unknown Regions. “Why are you here?” Kylo was intrigued, despite the darkness of his mood.

“First Order is preying on our planet. Ships come, bombard us, kill us. Then they steal from our shattered cities.” The alien paused, their skin turning mottled as they felt anger and sadness. “Our planet sends holorecordings to Republic, to warn it and ask its help. Republic says it is cartels doing this to us and we must be patient because it is taking care of the cartels. Cartels kill us too, take from us—we know how their ways are different. Republic is not taking care of the cartels, nor First Order. We come to Republic itself to ask to be heard in Senate and no one will hear us. You say you are against First Order.”

“I am,” Kylo said. It was made from the worst parts of the Empire, rather than the best. But it was a necessary blunt instrument, and Hux would better it. “But there is little I can do for you, beyond forcing a hearing that will go nowhere. The Senate has chosen inaction.”

The alien made a sighing sound. “This we know. We think in Basic it is said that ‘the Force wills it.’ Do you believe in the Force, Kylo Ren?”

Body language rarely translated across species, so Kylo was free to smile as bitterly as he liked. “Yes,” he said.

“The Force knows you can help us, even if you do not.”

“You’re mistaken. The Force does not move kindly through me.”

“Does it?” Without asking, the alien took Kylo’s hand in two of their own. He felt their strong connection to the Force, so natural and unpracticed that Kylo had sensed none of it before. They were feeling out the shape of his mind, opening up the ragged edges of painful memories.

His mother holding him for the last time. She was so small that Ben had been able to rest his chin on her head while he was still a teenager. “Trust in the Force,” she said, hugging him tighter, “and Luke will help you find a way to control your powers. I love you, no matter what happens.” Ben had kept silent because his throat felt tight, and he was already trying not to cry. It disturbed Kylo that Ben had not said goodbye to Leia. She had paused with her hand on the shuttle door, wiping at her eyes, but never looked back. Their story should have had a better ending than Leia leaving Ben behind, one more time.

The alien’s compassion washed over the memory, and Kylo felt absence where there had been terrible grief. “Apologies,” said the alien. “We did not expect to find such affliction. Benefit will come of our meeting, and a warning. There are many trials before you, Kylo Ren, but the truth waits with the deepest cut.”

Wrong. The alien was wrong. The lies had stopped; no one had lied to Kylo since he had gone to Snoke. No one could, now that his powers had grown. He found himself slipping somewhere he was afraid to go, and the alien was still tugging on his mind.

Then Garrota was shaking Kylo’s shoulder, shouting at him to wake up. The alien was gone and most of his furniture had been crumpled into a misshapen ball, as if it had gone through a trash compactor. Garrota flinched away from him when he looked at her, but she recovered well.

“Where did the alien go?” Kylo said.

“They left the room and gave me a holocube. I assumed nothing was wrong, so I was about to send in your first appointment when I heard this groaning sound, like the building was collapsing. You were crushing everything.”

She was bleeding from a cut on her arm. “Did I do that?” he asked. He was certain he had.

Shrugging, Garrota replied, “Something broke and clipped me. Don’t worry about it, _nerra_ , it’s not deep. Should I cancel your appointments?”

Kylo squinted at the pile of scrap that used to be fashionable lobby decoration. “No. It’s an art exhibition. Get a plaque made and call it ‘The Natural End of the Two-Party System.’”

Garrota raised her eyebrows. “Alright. Well, Senator X’blish is still waiting to see you.”

“Send her in. My desk is still standing.”

* * *

By the end of the day, Kylo had sat through eight hours of appointments. He had hardly listened during any of them. People were only coming to him because they wanted to demonstrate how important they were by being able to call upon Kylo’s time. When the last being left, he took a few minutes to center himself with meditation. It worked poorly.

He had to make a deeply unpleasant call on his holoprojector. The Resistance was more active than ever, but its operatives had retreated from the public eye. Leia had gone into hiding; even Varish had no idea where she was. Kylo would have to establish contact through someone else first, which meant calling on the same reporter who had snapped the holo of him and Hux in the speeder. 

Intwing Sluice answered the call immediately. As a Chadra-fan, he was short enough that the holoprojector showed almost his entire furry body. “Senator Ren,” Intwing said, grinning as his ears twitched. “I love your look today, but you only call me when you want something.”

“I want a meeting with Poe Dameron.”

“What makes you think I know where Dameron is?”

“Because you’ve been posting holos of him all week for a feature called Poe Damn!eron.”

Intwing chirruped in displeasure. “And what will you do for me?”

“You made half your career out of stalking me.”

“I’ve shown initiative,” Intwing replied. That was a creative way to describe hiding himself in a mouse droid so he could catch Kylo on vacation with someone whose name he had forgotten. “You have to let me take a holo of the meeting.”

“That’s politically damaging. No.” Kylo had made his stance on the Resistance operating in secret, without answering to any higher authority, quite clear. Leia could too easily disrupt his own plans, and now she was a threat to his alliance with Hux as well.

“I’m sure you can find a good way to spin it. Childhood friends? Long-lost lovers reunited?” Intwing scratched his chin. “Why do you want to meet Dameron, hmm? Must be worth the trouble.”

“Send me a message when you’ve got Dameron’s location, and then I’ll consider your offer.”

Kylo cut the feed. Intwing enraged him, though his holos had helped establish Senator Ren’s image as an eccentric playboy. To distract himself while he waited on Intwing’s conscience, he finally turned to the alien’s holocube. It was filled with records of the alien’s planet being attacked by a Star Destroyer. Though Kylo was no starship expert, something about the Destroyer’s design seemed different from the Imperial holovids he had seen. It was also odd that the First Order would test its power so close to Republic space, and that Hux had said nothing about it. Kylo needed a faster way to communicate with him. The improved comm Kylo had asked for had already come in, one that could actually produce a live feed from some worlds.

“Sir,” Garrota said, opening the door. “I have a location for the bounty hunter you were looking for. Qathik is working out of a cantina in the New Calamari district.”

Qathik had been in contact with the First Order’s traitor. Not only did she still have valuable information on Fairhand, but she could probably get a comm into First Order space. “Transfer the location to my datapad. I’ll be leaving shortly.”

“Alone? She’s Yinchorri.”

“I have ways of protecting myself from two meters of lizard that don’t involve mind tricks. And I won’t be entirely alone.”

* * *

He knew he was at the right cantina when he saw two Dowutins throwing a Rodian across the street. Kylo dodged out of the way and slipped past them, relieved that his mask kept out their stink. The beings at the cantina gave Kylo a wide berth, not knowing whether his black clothes were a warning or just theatrics. Ironically, the galaxy remembered the Sith better than the Jedi.

“ _Achuta_ , stranger,” said the bartender, a slender Twi’lek who leaned over the counter to give him a better view down her top. “ _Kee chai chai cun kuta_? Or do you prefer Basic?”

“I’m human. And I prefer females with a little more—” Kylo held his hands far apart. “Girth. And scales.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Not here for drinks, are you.”

“Qathik said she wants to see me again.”

“She doesn’t like having her time wasted. What makes you different from all the other assholes in here who think they’re hot plasma?”

Kylo waved his hand. “Tell me where Qathik is.”

The Twi’lek pointed towards a door by the refresher. “In there. Second door on the right. Password’s _creespa emperiolo._ ”

“Thank you.” Kylo left three hundred credits on the counter. She snatched it up and put it down her top, lekku twitching in confusion.

It was quiet in the hallway, and he felt only a few beings behind the door. Most of them were thinking in Huttese, but there was a Kaleesh and a language he did not recognize. Kylo knocked on the door. The comm unit crackled next to him and a deep voice spat out: “Password or fuck off.”

“ _Creespa emperiolo_.”

The door slid open. Qathik was stretching out on a couch, slowly inhaling from a hookah. Her Kaleesh bodyguard readied his force pike and three humanoids stood up, but no one seemed alarmed.

“I don’t know you,” Qathik said, breathing smoke through her nostrils, “but I hope you’ve got the Trandoshan roast nerf I ordered two hours ago.” The Kaleesh let out a gurgling laugh.

“I’m returning your office visit.” Kylo opened the latches on his helmet and pulled it off.

At the sight of Kylo’s face, Qathik growled, and the humanoids raised their weapons. He used the Force to yank the blasters out of their hands and sent the charging Kaleesh slamming into the wall.

“Stop!” Qathik commanded. “You’ve made your point.”

“You don’t want to try me as well?” Kylo asked.

Baring her teeth, Qathik said, “You’re not here to fight me. What do you want?”

“I have a business offer.”

She patted the couch next to her with her tail. “Then make your offer.”

The Kaleesh hissed at Kylo as he walked past and sat down. “I need you to smuggle something into the Unknown Regions,” Kylo said, resting one hand on his mask.

“That’s dangerous. The First Order shoots smugglers on sight, unless they’re running low on miners. Neither result pleases me.”

“But you have connections within the Order—do you not?”

She took a long draw from the hookah, but did not reply.

“The holocube you gave me came from Arasu Fairhand,” said Kylo. “She was the Minister for the Protection of Families. Surely you can get something inside, if you already succeeded at smuggling someone out.”

“I ask, Senator, why you need my First Order connections,” she replied, her nictitating membrane flicking over one eye, “when you clearly have them yourself.”   

“I would also pay you for giving me Fairhand’s location. The First Order is looking for her, and killing her is the least painful thing they’ll do. Is she still pregnant?”

“If I have done any business with Fairhand, I would not sell that information to you. Not for any amount of credits. Honor is too expensive for even you to buy, Banking Clan child.”

Kylo’s knuckles cracked as he made a fist. “Fairhand has no honor.”

“I know.” The hookah bubbled as Qathik inhaled again. “But I do. How much will you pay me, to smuggle this thing? To your General Hux. Or do you have other friends in the First Order?”

“I’ll pay double what I paid for the holocube.”

“So it _is_ for General Hux. Can I make you go higher?” Qathik tsked. “It must be so frustrating not to use your mind tricks.”

“I can still kill you.”

“I know. But corpses cannot do much for you. Well. How big is it?”

Kylo took out the comlink. It was larger than they usually were, equipped with a fortune in reception amplification tech. “This is a very easy forty thousand credits,” Kylo said.

She growled again, then reached out for the comlink, holding it gently between her clawed hands. “Not easy at all, but I will do it. Pay me now.”

He tossed her the credit chip. Qathik briefly examined it to make sure the credits were on there, then tucked it into a pocket of her vest. “Anything else you wish to pay me for?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then we are finished. If you pass by a Trandoshan with roast nerf on the way out, tell him he takes too damn long.”

“I don’t run errands,” Kylo replied, rising to his feet. “I hope your honor is as good as you claim, Qathik. I can find you if it is not.”

“Lying is bad for my business. Unlike yours.”

As soon as he was out of the cantina, a text came in from his agent, a slicer. While Kylo had been speaking with Qathik, his agent had sliced into her comm system, and picked up a transmission from her room. In warning Fairhand, Qathik had given away her hiding spot.

“Looks like your target’s down on ground level, halfway across the planet,” said the slicer. “Qathik stashed her somewhere real nasty.”

“Can you get her exact location?”

“Already looking at it.”

“Good. Send mercs after her and don’t waste a single second. She’s probably preparing to flee as we speak.”

“Yessir. Give my love to the Banking Clan, will ya?”

“You’ve earned it. Bring her to the safehouse.”

Kylo ended the call and climbed into his speeder bike. It was modified to look like salvaged junk, so he could park it anywhere without having to worry about theft. He would have to cross over three sectors to reach the abandoned office building which served for Kylo’s more illegal operations. Kylo rarely needed to use the space, but it was appropriately remote. Forcing himself into someone’s mind always made so much noise, and Senator Ren had to take care with the company he kept.

With less distance to cover, the mercs had gotten to the safehouse ahead of Kylo and had brought Fairhand into one of the offices. It looked a bit like a job interview, except Fairhand was cuffed to the chair. Her long black curls had fallen forward, obscuring some of her face, but Kylo could see the dark bruise on her cheek and another one just under her jaw. Like Hux, her mind was anger honed to a point, and the sneering glare she turned on Kylo made their resemblance even closer.

“I wasn’t trying to mess her up,” said one of the mercs, who had four scratches across her face, “but she fought back. Really hard, like a pregnant Loth-cat or something.”

With her straight back and stiff shoulders, she seemed more in command of the room than the three mercs, who were looking guiltily to Kylo. “Treating someone differently due to pregnancy status is a punishable offense in the First Order,” Fairhand muttered. “Your ration cards can be docked. Community service hours doubled. I could make it even worse than that, if I saw a pattern. Transfer you to a mining colony.”

“It’s not too late for me to start beating you, Imp,” the merc said.

“There is nothing you can do to me that I haven’t seen before, darling.” Fairhand used her precise Coruscanti accent like a lash—another thing that reminded him of Hux. The Order must prefer its people that way.

Kylo sat across from her, leaning back in the chair and putting his boots up on the desk. “Uncuff her, then leave.”

“She’ll try to bolt,” replied the merc.

“No, she won’t,” Kylo said. “I assume you know who I am, Minister Fairhand.”

“That is no longer my title.” She rubbed at her wrists when the merc released her, but she gave no sign of fleeing. “And you’re the corrupt Republican conspiring with General Hux. Is it just conspiring?”

The door slid closed behind the mercs, leaving the two of them alone in the room. “Hiding in a Republican slum can’t be what you wanted for yourself. Why did you leave the First Order?”

“Why should I say anything to you? You’re going to turn me over to that fucking monster, whether I cooperate or not.” Though she hid it well, Fairhand was afraid. “I wrote his psych profile, you know. Hux will betray you the second he sees an advantage in it.”

“You’re wrong,” Kylo replied, unable to hold his tongue.

Fairhand laughed. “Does he act like he’s fond of you?” When Kylo resisted rising to her bait, she added, “I could tell you about his father, Brendol. His passion was for conditioning children into perfect, heartless soldiers.”

Kylo was intensely curious about Brendol. He had seen Brendol through Morag’s point of view: a man with nothing behind his eyes but a sense of superiority and the desire for control. Hux worshipped him, still. “We are not here to talk about Hux,” Kylo said. “Either one. You are here to answer my questions, or I will rip them out of your head. It will hurt like nothing else you’ve ever known, and you may lose the child.”

“I don’t believe you have that power.”

Raising his hand and leaning forward in his chair, Kylo extended just the lightest touch across Fairhand’s mind, feeling for a recent memory. Fairhand was buttoning up his uniform, listening to his husband preparing breakfast in the kitchen. His tunic had already been let out as far as it could go; he might have only a week left before he delivered another citizen to the state. _I can’t bring someone else into this world_ , Fairhand thought _. What if they’re like me? How could I look into their eyes and tell them they have to hide just like I have? I can’t. I can’t. I can’t._

Fairhand flinched, shrinking back into his seat. “Don’t,” he mumbled. “Get out.”

“That explains why you left,” said Kylo, “which was my first question.”

“You must think I’m a coward.”

“I don’t know what to think of you yet.” Though Kylo sensed no cowardice from Fairhand. Guilt and paranoia had the greatest hold over him. “But I’m growing more inclined to learn about you.”

“Because I must be so fascinating,” said Fairhand, his tone contemptuous. “The irony that all along, I was the very thing that I was persecuting people for being.” Taking a deep breath, Fairhand clasped his hands together in his lap. “At first, I was just trying to be safe. Then I thought that if I climbed high enough, I could do so much good that it didn’t matter how much suffering I had caused to get there. I ended the chemical castration, the forced inseminations, the emetic-enhanced therapies. But it was never enough. Or perhaps that’s just what I told myself so I could give up.” Fairhand wiped at his eyes. “I cry easily. Never managed to break the habit.”  

“I suppose I should start keeping tissues in here for future interrogations,” Kylo replied, earning another dry laugh from Fairhand. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’m a traitor—no one wants me on their side,” Fairhand said.

“I might.”

“I don’t believe in your government, Senator Ren, or whatever you’re involved in creating with Hux. He’s poison.”

“He would say the same thing about you,” Kylo replied. “Here’s an offer. I can make you a citizen of the Republic. No one else would be willing to give that to you—not with your rank in the First Order. The Republic would provide you with gender reassignment and I’ll give you enough credits to keep you out of the slums. In exchange, you share all your intel on the Order with me, whenever I need it. If you betray me, I’ll have you hauled off to a Republican prison.”

Fairhand was silent for a long time. He took an elastic out of his pocket and started putting his hair up, every motion slow and exact. Kylo knew how awful it felt to be given a choice where the only result was losing control. But Fairhand was thinking of how he could have what he most wanted at last, and his personal pride and principles hardly mattered compared to that. He was Kylo’s agent now. Finished with his hair, Fairhand said, “Very well. But I need you to do something else for me. I don’t want this child. I got pregnant because it would have reflected poorly on me if I wasn’t.”

“I can arrange for a favorable adoption.”

“In that case, we’re agreed.” Then Fairhand smiled. “I also want you to record a message from me to General Hux, after I’ve had a few days to get myself together. There’s something he should know about Family Forward.”

Whenever Fairhand thought of Hux, it was with loathing. The ways they had chosen to resist the Order’s dictates had set them at each other’s throats, when they should have been allies. Snoke had spoken of how easily resistance movements could be fractured, just by giving them reason to fight amongst themselves.

Until Fairhand’s citizenship was pushed through, it was best to leave him with Garrota. Fairhand got into Kylo’s speeder without complaint. His mood had shifted towards cautious optimism, and he was fascinated by Republic City’s lights, without trying to hide it as Hux had. When they arrived at Garrota’s apartment, it was late enough that she answered the door wearing a shirt that said “FREE RYLOTH” and a pair of shorts.

“Do you have anyone else with you?” asked Kylo. 

“No.” Garrota waved them in. Fairhand hung back a little, staying behind Kylo.

“This is Arasu Fairhand,” Kylo said. “He’s a defector from the First Order. Fairhand, this is my personal assistant, Garrota Terza. You’ll be staying with her until I find somewhere better.” 

“I’ve never really spoken to a Twi’lek before,” Fairhand said.

Garrota rolled her eyes. “Great. I’ve spoken to a lot of xenophobes before, so we’ll do fine.” Turning to Kylo, she asked, “Am I actually safe with this guy around or do I need to sleep with a blaster?”

“There’s too much that Fairhand wants from me,” he replied.  

“Ms. Terza,” Fairhand said, “this is the first time I’ve ever fought anyone, and as you can see, I lost.”

“I’ll send my droid over,” Kylo added. “We’ll find somewhere better soon.”

“I hope so,” Garrota replied. “I don’t want this Imperial throwback in my home a second longer than he needs to be.”

A message notification came up on Kylo’s datapad. Intwing had sent coordinates for a distant planet in the Western Reaches. “I have to go. Take Fairhand to the hospital if he goes into labor.”

“I know how pregnancy works!” Garrota hissed as Kylo turned to leave.  

“In the First Order, we give birth in decommissioned TIE fighters instead of hospitals,” Fairhand teased, “and we have to hum the state submission song while kissing a portrait of the Emperor.”

“I already cannot stand you,” she replied.

* * *

Poe Dameron was on Jakku—it was a galactic scrapyard, populated by scavengers and anyone unlucky enough to have been born there. Why Organa would want Dameron on Jakku was something Kylo would have to investigate later. For now, Kylo just had to meet with Dameron. He leaned back in the pilot’s chair of his shuttle, his shoulder starting to ache again. His leg was nowhere near recovered from the blaster fire, and he was irritated enough at the pain to use numb-spray on the wound. 

The shuttle dropped out of hyperdrive and fell into orbit around Jakku. According to Intwing, Dameron normally came to Niima Outpost’s only cantina sometime in the afternoon. He would order two beers and talk to no one before he left. As it was already noon at Niima Outpost, Kylo steered the shuttle into a descent. Jakku was remote enough that it was completely cut off from the HoloNet, so it was unlikely someone would recognize his face. But it was important that Dameron did.

Kylo was about to ask for clearance to land when the new comlink signaled that its match had been activated. Qathik had upheld her end of the bargain. He had been trying not to think about Hux—to spare them both from Snoke’s scrutiny and Kylo’s fear of whatever was in Hux’s closed mind—but he pressed the button to request a live feed, without much hope for a reply.

The comm began transmitting. While nothing was coming through visually, Kylo could hear Hux’s voice clearly when he said, “Speaking.”

“It’s good to hear you,” Kylo replied.

“Can you actually hear me?” Hux asked. The audio signal was starting to get jammed, background static threatening to drown out everything else. “The feed is garbage on my end.”

“Mine too.”

“I don’t have much time,” Hux said, frustration sharpening his tone.

Kylo supposed that expecting Hux to be warm over an audio feed was too much. “I captured Fairhand.” Discussing Fairhand’s reasons for leaving the Order were better left for later. “Fairhand’s cooperating for now; I’ll send you a report soon.”

The audio signal started going in and out, cutting off half of Hux’s words. “—as soon as possible—signal fading—trying something—”

For a moment, the comlink picked up a visual signal of Hux frowning before going blank again. Kylo badly wanted to ask Hux what was going on. At least the static was reduced.

“Are you attacking a world with spacefaring aliens on it?” Kylo asked. “It’s in Sector 39.”

“No. Was a Star Destroyer sighted?”

“With several TIE squadrons. Sometimes walkers on the ground.”

After a pause, Hux replied, “The devil’s back. I think that’s Captain Forla’s ship. He’s a defector.”

“Then you won’t mind if I offer his location to the Resistance?”

“Mind? I’d be—” Hux’s reply was cut off by a loud crackle of static. “—this fucking machine—yes, give Forla to Organa. But I have to go.” His next few words were lost in noise before the feed cut entirely.  

The alien had been right about benefit. Kylo now had something concrete to offer Organa as proof that he wanted to help her, and eliminating Forla would weaken the Resistance without costing Hux any resources. Except for Hux’s preoccupation, Kylo had met with nothing but success.

Kylo landed in the bare dirt which Niima Outpost considered a spaceport. Jakku was even more desolate than Tatooine, but there was a strange heaviness to it. The Force had some sort of interest in the planet—a wound was here. Wishing for his mask, Kylo held his sleeve over his nose and mouth to keep out the blowing sand.

The cantina did not even have a name, just a flashing sign that showed a Kyuzo drinking. Inside were a few day drunks of various species and Dameron, sitting at the table facing the door. He was over halfway through his beer and reading something on his datapad, wearing the same jacket he had worn in every public appearance for the past three years.

Dameron’s eyes flicked up when Kylo sat across from him. “I’m flattered, but there’s plenty of other places to sit, pal,” he said.

“Not here to make friends?”

Recognition set in at Kylo’s voice. “Hey. You’re—huh. Senator Ren.” Dameron was unsettled, but he grinned. “Are you lost? The Senate building’s that way.” He jerked his thumb behind him.

“And shouldn’t you be at the Resistance base? Which is—where? That direction?” Kylo pointed west, then north. “This one?”

“What do you want?”

“I’d love to interrogate you about why you’re on Jakku, but I have something for my mother.” He hoped that he had said ‘mother’ without wincing.

Dameron raised his eyebrows. “I did not expect to hear that one.”

Kylo slid the alien’s holocube towards Dameron. “A being waited two days outside my office so they could speak to me about their planet. It’s being attacked by the First Order. The Senate, of course, has already dismissed them.”

Activating the holocube, Dameron watched the Star Destroyer firing on the aliens’ ships as they defended their planet. Dameron was as heroic as his reputation; Kylo sensed that he already wanted to fly out there. He turned off the holocube and asked, “What do you want us to do?”

“Politically, all I can say is that I want the Resistance to have this information. What you do with it is up to the General.”

“Are you opposing the Resistance because you really believe it’s the wrong way to fight the First Order, or is it because it’s led by your mother?”

Kylo’s temper flared as he tensed his jaw. The dark side wanted to feed itself by reaching across the table to choke some of Dameron’s cockiness out of him. “To you, Leia Organa is a war hero. To me, she’s a liar. A coward, who couldn’t even tell her son who he was. But that has nothing to do with why either of us is here.”

After draining his beer, Dameron replied, “Right. Sorry for bringing it up. I’ll get this to General Organa. Maybe we’ll be able to do something, but a Star Destroyer’s not an easy target, even though the tech’s thirty years out of date.”

“Why _are_ you on Jakku, Dameron?”

“You know how it is when everyone knows your face: you can’t really find anywhere worth going to for R&R,” Dameron lied. He started at the flash from a holocamera going off, jerking his head around to see a short, brown shape scurrying out the door. “What the hell?”

“That was the gossip reporter who tipped me off to where you were. You may want to check the HoloNet over the next few days to find out about our torrid affair. Or not. Goodbye, Poe.”

“There’s always a place for you in the Resistance, Senator.”

Rising to his feet, Kylo said, “I know.”

He was so distracted by Dameron’s prodding that he bumped into a raggedly dressed scavenger on his way out. The Force eddied around her, strong enough for Kylo to turn and stare. She was young, her hair in three childish buns.

“Sorry,” she said, then darted away.

The scavenger would be an incredible prize for Snoke. But the Force was drawing him away from her, seeming to warn him off the girl, off the entire planet. Kylo could wait to come back for her. No one left Jakku easily, and he had more important matters to attend to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go out to imochan for her quick 'n dirty beta! Lianne has stepped up her game of tormenting me by illustrating a scene from the fic before it was even published: Intwing and Ren make a deal [here](http://space-emos.tumblr.com/post/149939123731).


	9. the death of ben organa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you have triggers, please click through to the notes (which contain mild spoilers) before reading this chapter, because it has more disturbing themes than usual. If you decide that you're uncomfortable reading the chapter but still want to know what happens, you can follow [this link](http://sathinfection.tumblr.com/chapter9) to a summary of events on my Tumblr.

Alone, in the ship’s welcome darkness, Snoke contemplated the future.

He had learned much by dying. In his first life, he had been Darth Plagueis, master to the human who would become Emperor. As his respirator failed and Plagueis drew his last breaths, Sidious had accused him of abandoning the Grand Plan to grasp at immortality. Well. Sidious was now dead, and Snoke was reborn. The Grand Plan remained, and Snoke was wiser, far wiser than his egomaniacal apprentice had been.

Sidious had been a monster. Plagueis had not thought it mattered, when Sidious’s savagery and keen mind could be harnessed towards the Grand Plan. Snoke saw now with absolute clarity that the Way of the Sith had been wrong, keeping the galaxy forever out of balance. Sidious himself had convinced Snoke of the Sith’s failings, as he gloated over Plagueis’s slow asphyxiation. “You were far too trusting, Plagueis. No true Sith can ever really care about another. This has always been known. There is no way but my way.”

The Sith could never share power, because there was no care between them. Every apprentice was a blade against his master’s throat. It did not have to be so. Snoke dreamed of how to solve the problem of the Way of the Sith, as he lay at the brink of death for over thirty years. His droid, 11-4D, had followed his orders and taken him to the chamber deep beneath Coruscant City, sealed off from the outside world.

Death was deferred. But so was life. That too was a problem Snoke would solve. Time was lost to him, as his mind traveled through the Force, watching the passage of history yet powerless to affect it. Then, something bloomed in the Force. Starved, driven mindless by waiting, Snoke did not immediately realize what the bloom was.

It was a child, untrained and marvelous. The Force gathered around him, eddied and flowed and churned. Snoke was meant to find him. No one else could have sensed the frail ghost that Snoke had become, except for Ben Organa. He was a gift—a light in the darkness brought by the Way of the Sith.

Snoke gathered what was left of his powers and walked into Ben’s consciousness. Ben was dreaming of being in his mother’s Senate office. He was playing, waiting for his mother to turn around and join him, but she kept her back to him, talking to someone else.

The child looked up at Snoke. “Who are you?”

“A traveler,” Snoke replied. Ben was excited to see another person, though Snoke looked too weak for games. “May I stay here? I’m so very tired.”

“Okay,” Ben said, then turned back to his game.  

“Can you point to somewhere I can stay? It’s important.”

Ben gestured towards the door. “There. You can stay in the hallway. It has a bench.”

“Thank you.” Snoke tried to recall how he had seen humans talking to their children. With a nod, he said, “You’re a good boy, Ben.”

“Yeah right, old man,” Ben replied, rolling his eyes.

Without realizing it, Ben had made space for Snoke in his mind. He passed into the hallway, finding nothing there but the shifting of Ben’s thoughts and old dreams. Ben’s connection to the Force was so rich that Snoke felt almost whole again, though he was still no more than an impulse in a child’s brain, sent by a dying husk. Snoke watched every one of Ben’s dreams, his childish fantasies of power and belonging. He came to know Ben more deeply than the boy knew himself, and far better than his parents. They were never around enough for Ben’s comfort. Ben was a needy child, set off by how easily he picked up the emotions of others. That was how Ben first began to come to Snoke.

Ben wanted comfort. He wanted to know that he was not alone. Snoke would come out from his hiding place, stroke the boy’s hair and tell him that his parents were wrong to leave him by himself, that they did not love him enough, but Snoke did. Ben was wary, and not easily swayed. “They’re just busy,” Ben would say, even if he did not fully believe it. He was still a child, with a child’s understanding of what adults must do.

As Ben’s powers grew, so did Snoke’s fascination with him. Devotion, because Ben was all Snoke had. He was Snoke’s eyes in the world, and if Snoke reached out with the Force in sync with Ben, their power was twofold. Snoke’s joy was so great when he discovered his influence over Ben that he sensed his distant body clenching its fist. Now when Ben reached out with the Force to do a simple trick of floating something in the air, Snoke could choose to send it flying. Ben suspected nothing, but he began to fear himself. He feared the Force, feared how it slipped out of his control and made him hurt others. Afraid, Ben began to attract the dark side. It fed on him gladly. Leia would sometimes look at her child, whom she loved, and fear who he would grow up to be.

She kept secrets from Ben. Snoke had felt Anakin Skywalker turn to the dark side—Anakin’s conception, after all, was partially due to Snoke’s own manipulation of the Force as Plagueis. Anakin, Darth Vader, was Ben’s grandfather. Instead of telling Ben outright, he hinted at it. _Ben, my dearest, you should not mistrust the dark side. It is a part of you that you cannot deny._ _You cannot control your powers because they were born of the darkness. Embrace it, and you will never know fear._

Ben’s training with Luke Skywalker was irregular. Skywalker did not want to permanently take children from their families, nor did Leia and Han wish to spend too long without Ben. Snoke hid himself whenever Skywalker was near—it was worrisome enough that Leia suspected that something was dwelling inside Ben. With Skywalker, Ben became more confident. He spoke to Snoke less and less, and Snoke was close to becoming forgotten.

But then Ben went back to his parents, for a time. Snoke’s influence returned, as he showed himself whenever Leia and Han fought. Which they did, easily and quickly, because Ben’s powers were unpredictable again. All it took was for them to raise their voices one final time, and Ben’s fear let in everything—Snoke, the dark side, whatever fate wanted for him. When it was over, Han Solo was holding a rag to his bleeding head, where his own son had accidentally struck him with a hydrospanner.

“It’s fine, kid. Just a Jedi temper tantrum. You’re what, fourteen now?” Han said.

“Twelve,” Ben replied, and Han winked, interrupting Ben’s nervous tears by making him laugh.

Ben demanded to go back to Skywalker so he could learn how to better control himself. Snoke was fully part of him now, and could bend Ben’s reality to his choosing. Ben would remember that year as the one where his parents sent him away because they had grown too afraid of him. _I will never abandon you. I believe in you, in everything you are capable of. Your parents are too weak-minded, and Skywalker will try to make you powerless. I love you as no one else ever can, because I am not afraid of you. Allow me to guide you. Let me in._

Still, Ben resisted. The light side had its claws in him, setting him on the wrong path, no matter how Snoke twisted Ben’s memories. Snoke remembered how he had first perceived Ben, the beautiful bloom in the Force that was neither light nor darkness. Ben must be kept in between, or the Grand Plan would be in danger. The galaxy would belong to them both; history would march as it should, beyond the Way of the Sith and the Jedi Order. All would be ruled by the masters of the Force, rather than its puppets. An end to fate rested between Ben’s small shoulders.

Nothing went as Ben willed it. His powers were uncontrollable, seemingly malicious. The dark side adored him, as hungry for him as Snoke was. Unfortunately, some friends remained to Ben. There were students who were not deterred by Ben’s lack of control—even the one whose arm he had broken by accident still smiled at him, trained too well in Jedi compassion, and trusting that Ben had intended no harm.

Snoke had already isolated Ben from his parents, but now he must take Ben from his friends. It was for Ben’s own good. He must belong only to Snoke: not to his family, not to any other beings, and not to the dark side or the light. Snoke’s, alone.

 Opportunity came, as it often did, in Ben’s sleep. Ben was unwisely far from Skywalker, on a camping trip with his closest friend. Snoke reached out with Ben’s powers, sending the Force into the girl sleeping nearby. With ease, he compressed just the right artery in her brain, ending her life in silence. An impressive thing about the brain that Snoke had learned in Plagueis’s many experiments was that it was possible to convince a mind that its body was dead. Ben awoke to the delusion that he had possessed the girl, and killed her.

It would be Snoke’s second finest act in the creation of Kylo Ren. Ben was hysterical, his panic pulling trees from their roots and reaching Skywalker, hundreds of kilometers away. Snoke was there for him, to tell him that this was who he was, that he would always be this, as long as Ben listened to Skywalker’s useless teachings. Skywalker could not teach Ben how to control his powers.

And it was not a lie. So long as Snoke lived in Ben’s mind, Ben would never know control. Snoke would give it to him as the greatest gift.

Ben Organa lived a half-life after that. Leia came to see him one last time, and Snoke did not even have to alter Ben’s memories after—the idea that his mother had abandoned him was too strong. Ben held himself apart from everyone but Skywalker, who busied himself with looking for lost Jedi writings which would explain Ben’s strange, dangerous abilities. More and more, Snoke was the voice Ben listened to.

What finally sent Ben running to Snoke’s airless grave on Coruscant was a HoloNet transmission of his mother, standing revealed as Vader’s daughter in the Senate. What a perfect betrayal of Ben’s trust, from the woman who had abandoned him over and over again in his benighted memories. Now Ben had an explanation for all the harm he had caused to others and why the dark side haunted his dreams and poisoned his days. _You have always been born of the dark side_ , _my child. Come to me on Coruscant. Claim what is yours. I shall be your guide, not your master. That was the old way. Ours is the new._

For the first time, there was a breath of air across Snoke’s numb face as Ben opened his tomb. Still impossibly weak, Snoke could see nothing as Ben held him in his arms. “Please don’t leave me too,” Ben sobbed. “Please. I need you. Take whatever you want from me.”

His head cradled against Ben’s neck, Snoke channeled Ben’s remarkable life into himself. He drained Ben nearly to death; it was pleasure, power, such as Snoke had never known before, and only love stopped him from rendering Ben into the same empty meat as Snoke’s later meals. Snoke’s vision slowly cleared, allowing him to see Ben as others saw him. He did not know what he was supposed to think of Ben’s face, his tear-streaked cheeks, his dark eyes. But Snoke knew Ben was perfect, somehow. So he reached up to stroke Ben’s hair, as he had when Ben was a child, and lightly drew his fingers down his cheek.

Stricken by Snoke’s touch, Ben panicked. The light was driving him back to Skywalker. Snoke felt bereft as Ben left him, but he did not despair. With the midi-chlorians ripped out of him, Ben was a walking bomb. The Force would restore itself.

Ben flew back to Skywalker’s school, prepared to throw himself at his uncle’s feet. Blood was slowly leaking out of his mouth, staining his shirt and dotting the console. Ben could barely comprehend it, but he kept the ship on course. He hoped he would not frighten the children. When he arrived, it was raining bitterly, but some of the students were still out, practicing their mastery of the Force. Ben took a few steps towards them, calling them by name and asking for Luke.

Then he stumbled, falling to his hands and knees. Darkness slipped out of him, the ravenous emptiness of the dark side crawling out of Ben, forming the shape of some great beast of the old Sith Empire. Ben collapsed, completely senseless to the chaos around him. He was a channel for the Force, such as Snoke had never seen before. The beast bounded after the fleeing children, devouring the Force inside them as it mangled their bodies. It was protecting Ben from what Snoke had done, keeping him alive. Snoke was moved by the horror of it, seeing the dark side bared and walking the physical realm. Perhaps this too was the result of Plagueis and Sidious’s prideful manipulation of the Force, tipping it towards the dark side where it had once been balanced. Snoke regretted it now, watching Ben moaning and gnashing his teeth, writhing as the dark side fed him.

Yet, there was opportunity here. Snoke pulled on his connection to Ben, rebuilding his memories. The dark side had not killed Skywalker’s students; Ben himself had come for them, on Snoke’s orders. It was a test of his loyalty, of Vader’s blood in his veins. Anakin’s memories of the massacre at the temple were simple to call upon. Snoke had only to change a few details. Ben saw Skywalker’s students die at his hand, feeling the rage and grief of Anakin as he did. Snoke’s whispers grew to a chant, repeating endlessly who Ben needed to be.

_this is who you are like your grandfather before you this is who you are like your grandfather before you_

Only Skywalker escaped. A pity. When Ben came to, Snoke was there to comfort him, speaking inside his head. “It is what needed to be done,” Snoke told him. “The Jedi endanger the Grand Plan. You have already sacrificed too much to abandon the Plan, which is the end of all struggle.”

“Yes, master,” Ben said.

“No—your guide. A father.”

Nodding, Ben asked, “May I cremate them? As if they were Jedi. This place is cursed now. They should not rot where they fell.”

“Do what you need.”

Ben rose slowly to his feet, as if he were already an old man, and went about the work of disposing of the bodies. The students ranged in age from six to twenty. Ben was tireless as he placed them over a pyre. Mercifully, the rain had stopped. The wood caught on fire quickly, filling the air with the smell of burning hair and melting fat. Ben watched.

“I feel like I’m dying,” Ben said. He was thinking of what he had done, how he had killed them all. Ben could never return to his family, or live any part of his old life. 

“You are. Finish it. Kill Ben Organa. He was weak and foolish. You are strong.”

Igniting his saber, the newborn cut off his Padawan braid, sending it to the flames. He wished he could throw himself on the pyre with it, but he held back, waiting for Snoke’s words.

“Kylo Ren,” said Snoke. “You are my Kylo Ren.”

Fate shifted towards a new course. One of Snoke’s making. He trained Kylo in politics, finding him a more brilliant and cooperative pupil than Sidious. Everything had gone as it should for six years. Kylo was poised to become First Senator, and Snoke could feel that war was once again stirring in the stars. The meeting with General Hux was to be yet another stroke of fortune that would deliver knowledge of the Starkiller weapon into Snoke’s hands before anyone else in the Republic knew. With Snoke’s connection to Kylo stretched by distance, Snoke did not sense the danger of that night until Kylo was dreaming, and it was already too late. He tried to kill Hux in his sleep, as he had killed the girl years ago, but Kylo unconsciously held Snoke back. Hux woke up to a nightmare, nothing more.

Snoke had regrets. He could see Hux’s value, and the First Order’s. Had Snoke chosen another path, infiltrating the First Order and bringing it under his will, he would have had the Starkiller for himself. Kylo and Hux would have met as rivals for Snoke’s affection. And all the many twists of fate that had led them to cling to each other so fiercely would have never come to pass. They could have had such hate for each other.

It was incredible, how thoroughly Hux thwarted Snoke’s plans. The result of coincidence and cruelty, Hux was the one person who could draw Kylo from Snoke’s side and put doubt into his heart. Hux could not have any part of what Snoke had created, shaped and loved for so many years. Snoke would demonstrate that for Hux. Snoke’s knowledge of humans was still incomplete, but Hux’s sense of possession? That Snoke well understood.

He summoned Kylo to the ship only a few days after his return from Rattatak. Snoke did not rise to meet Kylo as he walked into the chamber, wearing the robes of the Jedi Killer. Kylo had finally come with a Force-user for Snoke to restore himself with. Though taking midi-chlorians could keep him alive, Snoke's old strength had never returned to him. Standing was almost beyond Snoke’s effort, and he could only affect the Force through Kylo.

When Kylo started to kneel, Snoke waved his hand. “I have no patience for your excuses today.”

“Supreme Leader—“ Kylo began, his eyes flicking around the room.

“You met with Poe Dameron.”

Wincing, Kylo replied, “It is imperative that I meet with General Organa.”

“Not for us. Not for the Grand Plan.” Snoke raised his voice, something he rarely did. Organa was dangerous, because she likely knew what Kylo must not: what had really happened at Skywalker’s school. “I have ordered you not to contact Organa, and yet you would do this for Hux’s sake, without even asking my permission.” 

“I brought you nourishment,” Kylo said, staring down at the floor.

“Look at me, and tell me why you disobey me.”

Kylo lifted his head. “Hux cannot help us if he is distracted by Organa’s sabotage.”

“You are an instrument, Kylo Ren, such as the galaxy has never known, and you are mine to wield, not Armitage Hux’s.”

“I am only doing what I think best serves the Grand Plan.”

“Liar!” Snoke shouted, pounding the chair with his fist. Kylo hunched his shoulders, turning his head aside. “You are doing what serves you. You repay all of my teachings, all of my _love_ , with this disloyalty. Do you deny it?”

“I have followed the will of the Force, Supreme Leader.”

In that, Snoke thought Kylo was honest. The Force was always interfering with Snoke’s plans. He did not reply to Kylo, only waited.

“I am not disloyal,” Kylo said at last, his tone droid-like. “How can I prove it to you?”

How lovely—Kylo had walked directly into Snoke’s discipline. “Strip.”

“Snoke?” he whispered, his eyes wide.

“Offer yourself to me.”

Fear seized Kylo, such as he had not felt in a long time. Snoke did not even have to draw on his connection to Kylo’s mind to feel his racing heart.

“Offer. Yourself. To. Me,” Snoke repeated. “If I must ask you again, I will have you banished from my sight.”

Kylo’s mind was in so much torment Snoke nearly relented. But Snoke had to press forward, or Kylo would be lost to him. He would suffer so much if Hux took him from Snoke’s guidance. Kylo’s hands shook as he pulled off his gloves and dropped them on the floor. Next came his cloak, and his robe. He paused when he came to his tunic, raising his hands to his mouth as his breathing came faster and tears gathered in his eyes.

“Don’t waste my time,” Snoke said. “And don’t hyperventilate. You know how to avoid it.”

Nodding, Kylo dropped his hands back to his tunic. Snoke dipped into his thoughts, finding the corruption even worse than he had feared. _Hux will never forgive me. He’s the only one who should touch me—I want him, just him—Snoke is taking him away because I’m too weak, it’s my fault that he’ll be betrayed—I’d rather die._

How dare Hux reduce Kylo to this. Kylo kept fumbling, taking longer than he should have. Snoke had only a medical interest in Kylo’s body, but he appreciated the reassurance that despite all his recent distractions, Kylo had kept himself fit. Soon he would flourish again.

“Kneel before me,” Snoke commanded when Kylo was fully nude. Kylo did as he was told, flinching as if Snoke would hurt him. Snoke cradled Kylo’s face in his hands, feeling infinitely hurt that Kylo had been crying. Hux had nearly torn them apart. It was hideous. “If I asked,” Snoke said, making his tone tender again, drawing his thumb over Kylo’s lower lip, “would you let me take you?”

“Yes,” Kylo breathed.

Even softer, Snoke asked, “Would you bring me Hux’s head?”

“Yes.” Kylo hid his face against Snoke’s leg, hands on Snoke’s knees. “But please don’t make me do it. Please be patient with me, with my weakness. I promise never to touch him again.”

“You cannot love him, Kylo Ren.”

Kylo sobbed. “I don’t know how to stop.”

“Then I will help you. As I always have. Rise, and leave me to put your mistakes back into order.”

“Thank you,” Kylo murmured. Snoke could feel him obedient again, desperate to do anything Snoke wanted. Even better, he was more frightened for Hux’s sake than he was longing to see him again. “May I dress?”

Snoke waved him away. Much as he wanted to dote on Kylo to improve his own mood, he had something deeply important to do. When Kylo left the room, Snoke reviewed the holorecording of their conversation. He decided to leave the entire beginning, but cut it off after Kylo’s second ‘yes.’ Snoke sent the recording to the Unknown Regions, to the heavily encoded address that Kylo used whenever he contacted Hux.

To make certain that his intent was perfectly clear, Snoke attached a brief message.

_General Hux,_

_Desist from involving yourself with Kylo Ren. I have deemed it distracting and unproductive. As you can see, Kylo would give me anything, even your life. I understand that this may wound your pride, but I trust you to respond to this in a professional manner that is worthy of your age and station._

_\- S._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADDITIONAL WARNING: This chapter contains explicit gaslighting, some references to disassociation, and a rape threat by someone who's established as a father figure, though Snoke never intended to go through with it. 
> 
> Thanks go out to eehn for the beta! 
> 
> P.S. I know Pablo Hidalgo already said that Plagueis wasn't Snoke but I like that theory anyway! Also, Sidious's quote about the Sith never caring about each other comes directly from James Luceno's _Darth Plagueis_ novel.


	10. hail and farewell

Hux had spent the better part of ninety minutes trying to convince himself that he was glad to be back at his desk. Administrative work was soothing, when it went well. He had a steaming cup of tea and quiet. Less than twenty-four hours ago he had been lectured on romance by a hideous alien, gotten a perfectly executed blowjob, and arrived back on the capital world in time to order two people tortured before summoning the Director of Interior Affairs to his office. While Hux tapped his fingers impatiently, the potential traitors were being hunted down.

It was, outside of its start, the most average day Hux had had in a long time. He had no idea what to do about it. His life had never been ordinary—aspiring to become Emperor was no small goal—but Ren’s presence in his neatly ordered plans pushed everything too far into mysticism and conspiracy for Hux’s equilibrium. Being fond of the person he had sex with was a little like bringing a rancor into a committee meeting. Inappropriate, and likely to bite his ass. Or his neck, or his hip, or anywhere else he asked for, because Ren was absolutely devoted to him.

Hux was considering lighting a cigarette just to offend the Director’s nose when the specter himself walked in. Ira-Jann looked, as usual, too far from being dead. “Take a seat, Director,” Hux said. He swallowed down the reflexive fear he’d developed in school; Ira-Jann was in front of Hux on his terms, not behind a holo.

“I was told this was urgent. I don’t like the traffic of crossing the city to come out here,” he replied, sitting with his legs crossed. The translucent age of Ira-Jann’s skin was reminiscent of Snoke.

Having traffic was something that Miraxis’s capital was still working on, but of course Ira-Jann liked to pretend there were more than five speeders on the street at once. Hux activated Fairhand’s holocube, having set it to replay Hux’s own arrest record. He could have chosen someone else’s, but he liked making Ira-Jann sit through his younger self spitting on people.  

“Where did this come from?” asked Ira-Jann. Perfectly calm, except for a stiffness in his mouth that hinted at private disappointment.

Steepling his fingers, Hux said, “Senator Ren bought it off a bounty hunter in Republic City. Only you and Minister Fairhand have access to this data. Unless you were looking to earn some spare Republican credits, the only logical conclusion is that Fairhand took this cube with her before fleeing to Hosnian Prime.”

Ira-Jann pursed his lips. “What do you want?”

“Troops. Supplies. All on more favorable terms than before, including the contract doubled to four years. I’ve already drawn it all up on my datapad, so all I need from you is a DNA signature.”

“War never solved a single social problem, General,” Ira-Jann droned as he pressed his thumb over the new contract. “The famines have ended. The population is up. Outside of the military, people report higher levels of happiness than ever before. We have everything we need here, yet you want to drag us into another conflict.”

Hux had to fold his hands back in his lap. He could feel rage coming on, and he didn’t want Ira-Jann to see it. “How would you define ‘everything we need’? Because we’re so far away from the wealth of the Core that we congratulate ourselves on providing everyone with a new set of clothes every two years. Half our communication gets lost, so we send all messages in triplicate.”

“You exaggerate. And the Core Worlds are a trap,” Ira-Jann replied. “The center of a spider’s web. With riches, come corruption and strife.”

The Director was hideously shortsighted. He would have the First Order’s citizens hiding under a rock and eating processed moss, if he had his way. “It’s not up to you to dictate the First Order’s actions.”

“That hasn’t been my experience. We share power, no matter how little you like it,” said Ira-Jann, taking the holocube. “Why did Kylo Ren give this to you? Sex, I assume. It’s how you’ve gotten ahead in the past. There was that Navy man—Forla?”

If Hux responded Ira-Jann would know he’d struck a sore spot. “What matters, Director, is that your own protégé betrayed you. Your vision can’t inspire loyalty. Mine does. Perhaps Fairhand loathed you all this time.”

For a moment, Ira-Jann looked hurt. Then his expression smoothed over into its familiar mask. “I’ll look into replacing her today. Do you have anything else? I’m a busy man.”

“No. I’d like you to leave.”

After Ira-Jann left and closed the door behind him, Hux allowed himself to relax. He poured a generous amount of whisky into his tea and would reward himself for holding his temper by spending the rest of the day drunk. Should anything require his full attention, there were still a few stim pills in his desk drawer. Everything was so late in its development, from the Starkiller to the stormtroopers, that there was little left for Hux to do. All that remained was to start the war. 

 

* * *

 

Hux woke up at five in the morning, anxious and sweating. Sometime during the night the air conditioner had shut down, leaving Hux at the mercy of Miraxis’s summer mugginess. It would take a few hours for a tech to come out and fix the damn thing, because no civilian would answer their comlink before the first siren. He did have one message on his own, though. The traitors had been apprehended and their interrogations begun. Torture didn’t keep to business hours.

It was an ugly job. Most of the drugs used by the Empire’s interrogation droids relied upon compounds no one knew how to make anymore, or were too cost-ineffective to synthesize. The First Order’s approach was much more direct. Hux had memorized the steps: the interrogators began with dehydration, environmental stress, and sleep deprivation. If that did not break the subject, then the interrogation became physical. Nails. Teeth. Only ever one eye. The goal was to take as long as possible before irreparable damage was done, as the subject needed to have some delusions of being able to return to their former life.

Fixing the air conditioning unit would be a good distraction. He put on his old gym clothes from the Academy, which still fit because he’d always skipped PT. Cutting unnecessary classes had been a prestige game among the legacy cadets that Hux had quite creatively won. It couldn’t be too difficult to figure out how the AC functioned, once he got it out of the wall. There was no quick release, no visible soldering, and no screws either.

Hux realized he may not have been in the right mood for repair when he ended up denting several sections of plasteel in his rush to remove the AC. Refrigerant was dripping onto the floor and his home security system was politely informing him of non-fatal toxic gas leak. The reason for the machine’s breakdown was immediately obvious: a rat had crawled into it and died. His mother would have seen it as an omen. Hux saw it as a sign that he should put on some gloves and throw it in the incinerator, then get properly dressed and leave early for the office.

His speeder bike got a curious look from a xeno garden laborer as he zoomed by. After spending so much time on-planet, with its range of smells (including surprise corpses in small spaces), Hux was beginning to miss the permanently electric-scented air of a starship. Even better was the air on Starkiller Base: pristine, yet humming with the energy of the kyber crystals powering it.

The only person in the building before him was the overnight security guard. She was scanning an ungainly comlink. “Sir,” she said, rising to her feet to salute, “civvie dropped this off for you. It’s not a bomb, but it’s a fragging strange piece of equipment. Only message with it was that it was for ‘thinking differently.’”

Ren had been entirely out of character after their meeting with Snoke, insecure and frantic. Though Hux certainly had the better part of Ren’s loyalty, he would still have to be cautious in how he removed the alien. He took the comlink from the guard and closed his office door behind him before he set the comm to receive. Almost immediately, there was an incoming request for a live feed. Republican techs were far too clever.

“Speaking,” Hux said. Where even was Ren, if he was close enough for the comm to pick up? The response was mostly static, though he could recognize Ren’s voice in it. “Can you actually hear me? The feed is garbage on my end.” There was more static in response, garbling whatever Ren was saying. Hux’s irritation was mounting. “I don’t have much time for fighting with this machine.”

Finally, Hux caught a few words from Ren, saying that he’d captured Fairhand and would report soon. “What’s your location?” Hux asked, watching the reception lights on the comlink dancing in and out of functional range. “Get it to me as soon as possible. Damn signal’s fading further. I’m trying something.”

Hux hit the comlink dead center. Too briefly, he saw Ren looking tired and morose before the signal cut back to audio only. But he could actually understand a little of what Ren was saying now.

“Are you attacking a world—Sector 39?” Ren asked.

That was completely outside of the First Order’s range of operations. A few of the old Imperials had refused to join the Order and stayed rogue, but their vessels ran with skeleton crew and there’d been no reports for decades. “No. Was a Star Destroyer sighted?”

“With several TIE squadrons. Sometimes walkers.”

There was only one person who could have brought those out to Sector 39. Hux had thought Vale Forla would have given up by now and settled on a planet to die of disappointment. “The devil’s back. I think that’s Captain Forla’s ship. He’s a defector.”

“Mind if I offer—to the Resistance?”

Vale was yet another variable Hux didn’t want. “Mind? I’d be relieved.” The comm’s reception bar flickered. Ren probably hadn’t heard a word. “Damn this fucking machine for not working,” Hux muttered. “Yes, give Forla to Organa. But I have to go.”

Hux shut the comlink down, feeling unaccountably piqued. He composed a proper text message to Ren, detailing the outdated maneuvers Vale might favor. Being reminded of Vale was like finding an unexpected scab. Vale’s defection had been six years ago, and Hux had scrubbed the man from his brain. What had been an unforgivable, unfathomable betrayal to Hux’s younger self had faded into mere resentment. 

They first met in the officers’ bar of a border planet, and there was blood under Vale’s nails. Hux noticed it as he leaned forward, letting Vale light his cigarette. He’d asked for a light because he liked how Vale looked, tall and confident, hair cut almost short enough for regulation.

“Major Hux,” Vale said, his eyes flicking over Hux’s armbands, “I do wonder what brought you all the way out here.” His accent was Coruscanti, so perfect that Hux assumed he’d affected it. Combined with the lack of rank insignia on his Navy uniform, it meant that Vale was probably intel, or something worse.

“How do you know who I am?” Hux asked.

“I did a little work for your father. Nothing particularly public, so I’ll forgive you for not recognizing me. My name’s Vale Forla.”

The name meant nothing to Hux. “You don’t look old enough to have served him.”

“You’re hardly old enough to be a major, yet here we are. Admiral Sloane liked to call us the hungry generation, gobbling up all the empty ranks left by the Civil War. That, and so many of us dropped dead in the famines.”

Vale was good at dodging Hux’s questions in a way that made it seem like he had answered them. He kept calling Hux by his first name, insisting that the First Order was hanging itself on formality. It took a few drinks to get Vale’s rank out of him—commander—and Hux ended up going with him to his hotel room. The blood was still under his nails when they had sex. Too tired and drunk to walk back to his own room, Hux fell asleep in Vale’s bed.

The next day, Hux found out that a Navy lieutenant suspected of graft had been strangled to death in the bar’s bathroom. Vale had calmly stayed at the bar for hours afterwards, murder being one of the many things he did offhand. That was the start of their association. For the first few months, it was nothing but beneficial. Hux learned about the wetwork that had gone on behind the scenes while he’d been too busy with the logistics of the stormtrooper program, and Vale liked to brag about it only a little less than he liked Hux’s Army connections. He grew used to how Vale made everything easier; he even slept badly when Vale was away for too long, because Vale kept inviting himself to Hux’s quarters. Their competitors started dropping dead or being transferred at a rate that should have merited alarm, but the military had not yet been brought under the unifying purpose of winning a war.

It was inevitable that someone like Vale would become overconfident. Constantly working outside regular bounds made him impatient, unable to see anything in the long-term. The beginning of the end happened at a party hosted by Carise Sindian. Lady Carise, as she insisted on being called, was regaling everyone with the story of how she had conquered Senator Organa by revealing that she was Darth Vader’s daughter. Vader was only of mild interest to Hux—he didn’t believe much in the power of the Sith back then. The mood was jubilant, as if the Republic would soon come running to the Unknown Regions for leadership. Vale’s annoyance was expected, but not the fit that had him storming out into the garden. Embarrassed, Hux apologized for Vale’s rudeness before he went after him.

“I’m done with this collection of fools,” Vale said, pacing. “Worms, all of them. Men like us shouldn’t settle for the rubble of someone else’s empire.”

“What do you propose—founding a new one?”

“Can’t we? There’s a whole galaxy.” He held his arms wide, gesturing to the stars as if they actually held promise. “The First Order doesn’t want people like us. It _hates_ us. Do you think all those years of brainwashing will go away if you put a crown on your head? Or if we kill the Director? I’d rather let them breed themselves into oblivion than break myself trying to lift them out of their own muck.” 

“It may surprise you, but none of my plans for the First Order’s future involve introducing you as my boyfriend,” Hux snapped.

Vale grimaced, clenching and unclenching his fists. For a moment, Hux thought Vale would strike him. But all he did was say, “I don’t know why I waste my time on you,” and walk off, denying Hux the fight he wanted. Only hours later Vale came to Hux’s bed again, liquor scenting his breath as he muttered a non-apology about them being all each other had.

He saw less of Vale after that. Hux hadn’t been replaced or discarded; Vale was merely busy with something he didn’t share, and that made Hux suspicious. Every action left some sort of trail, whether it was human or data. Bugging Vale’s clothing was even easier than mining his datapad. Both were a betrayal of trust, but Vale had earned it by keeping secrets.

When Hux added up all Vale’s seemingly disassociated actions of pulling on every favor and bit of blackmail he had acquired over his career, the result made Hux flinch. Vale was going to steal a Star Destroyer, and he’d succeed at it. He’d invented a top secret combat exercise using only people who, for one reason or another, had reason to resent the First Order. A few might consider mutiny after they realized what Vale had pressed them into, but there would be too much momentum by then. All of them would be marked as traitors by the First Order. 

The right thing to do would have been to report Vale immediately. There was barely an hour before the “exercise” began. Instead, Hux decided to try to stop him. He thought that he could somehow talk Vale out of it, leverage Vale’s emotions against his ambition. Hux knew the route Vale would take to the Star Destroyer, one through winding corridors where no one was likely to search for him.

He found Vale alone, pausing in the hallway to message someone on his comlink. Vale turned at the sound of Hux’s boots, comprehension clear across his face. “Took you long enough,” Vale said, putting on a grin. “Come with me. I don’t want them to have you.”

“If you actually cared,” Hux replied, “you wouldn’t have kept this a secret.”

“Because you would have tried to stop it!” Vale moved too fast, pinning Hux against the wall and holding a blaster to his temple. The safety clicked as Vale thumbed it off. Hux could struggle, but he knew he’d lose. “Tell me that’s not true and I’ll go on my knees to beg forgiveness. You should lie. The only way I can be sure you won’t report me and ruin everything is to kill you.”

Underneath the impotent, furious beat of his heart, Hux’s only thought was that if Vale shot him, he deserved it for being so stupid. He couldn’t bring himself to lie; his one bit of pride in the whole encounter was that he didn’t plead, either. “You think I’d do that too?”

“Yes.”

Hux watched Vale struggle with his conscience. Given that Hux had first been attracted to Vale’s lack of it, he was really just waiting to die. But Vale lowered the blaster.

“I hope you’re in my place one day,” Vale said, backing off. “Holding someone’s life in your hands and too sentimental to pull the trigger. Goodbye, Armitage. I’ll miss you—if you let me.”

Star Destroyers were of incalculable value. They represented years of effort and resource gathering, crewed by thousands of people. Letting Vale get away with stealing one was utter self-sabotage and could potentially ruin his career, given how closely associated he was with Vale. Hux still wasn’t sure why he never reported Vale. Shared anger, maybe, at Vale’s ‘them,’ the civilians who swallowed the Director’s programs. Perhaps Hux just wanted to prove Vale wrong, no matter how much it cost. Going contrary to expectation had defined most of Hux’s life.

After Vale’s defection, Hux was subjected to questioning. Hux knew it wasn’t torture when they left his hands free, but one of them rolled back Hux’s uniform cuff and gave him an injection. It was something meant to lower his inhibitions. Vale had told him that the best way to resist questioning was to count to thirty before he said anything at all. “Remember that you can be in control of any situation,” Vale had said. Hux remembered nothing of the questioning, only the counting. When it was over, Sere was there to pick him up, just as he had eight years ago. At least Hux’s nose wasn’t bleeding this time.

Head still spinning from the injection, he leaned back in the seat. As he watched the lights of the city slowly go out, Hux felt himself changing into someone else, someone better at doing what needed to be done. It was a little like dying.

 

* * *

 

A sense of rightness returned as Hux took his place on the bridge of the _Finalizer_. On a ship, Hux was the ultimate authority. To countermand a single order from him was to invite a court martial, which was far superior to the planetside cluster of competing despots.  It was necessary for the _Finalizer_ to appear at the border worlds—remind the locals that the First Order’s military had the might of the old Empire with less of its failings. Bases had to be personally inspected. There were dozens of tasks that Hux had to catch up with to make up for all of his recent absences.

But he was preoccupied. The tracker he had left inside Snoke’s ship kept him updated on the creature’s whereabouts. Snoke hardly moved; the ship would orbit uninhabited worlds in the Mid Rim, changing every few days. Knowing where Snoke was, but having to wait on his elimination was trying. As for Sector 39, he could not justify sending out a scout to observe if the Resistance had taken out Vale’s stolen Star Destroyer, so his mind kept returning to that loose end. It would be wonderful if the stupidity of Hux’s younger self finally gave him some returns by enhancing Ren’s credibility with Organa.

Daily, he was sent an interrogation report. The gambler confessed to selling information to Organa on the third day, but it was too risky to cut the operation there. He surely had more to give Hux, so the interrogation went onwards. The other potential traitor, the woman with five children, was almost certainly innocent. As the final stages of the torture proceeded, Hux read each report with his morning cup of tea, cursing his weak stomach. Sympathy and squeamishness were equally pointless.

Statistically, all the information anyone could give would be out within six days. Hux had just clicked out of the sixth report when Ren’s comm unit signaled an incoming message. It was prerecorded, which Hux noted with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Since he was in the privacy of his cabin, Hux pressed display.

Fairhand appeared from the waist up. She looked entirely different from the woman Hux had done his best to undermine for years; her hair was down, but it took him a few moments to realize that the startling change about Fairhand was the newly flat chest.

Hux could have done _so much_ for Fairhand, yet he’d never once reached out. The military would have taken care of Fairhand like it did everyone else condemned by Family Forward—there were ways to alter recorded gender, if someone was in the service long enough. Even surgery and hormones could be had. Fairhand knew that. He absolutely knew that. 

“General. You hated me for years, and now I’m at the mercy of your mad Jedi,” Fairhand said. “He helped me become a citizen of the Republic. It’s something he can easily take away. I think you always sensed that I was like you, though you never voiced it.”

Of course Hux had had suspicions. Fairhand had never acted uncomfortable around him, as many other civilians did, though Fairhand had more information about Hux’s “proclivities” than anyone else. It enraged him to look back on Fairhand’s behavior with new understanding. Fairhand was a traitor not just to the Order, but to his own kind.

As if Fairhand knew that Hux would be apoplectic, he paused for a moment before he spoke again. “I was eight years old when Family Forward started. I’d already told my parents that I was a boy, so I was heading straight to the clerk’s office to have my gender corrected in the rolls. I was so excited that I didn’t even hear the announcements over the speakers. My mother got the news just before everyone else because she worked in the school’s broadcast office. She faked being sick and ran for me, lifted me right off the floor and started crying. She told me I had to pretend to be a girl or I’d never be safe.

“I collaborated with the Director, so I could protect people like us. You resisted, and you’re trying to bring the whole system down. I don’t know whether either of us are brave, or right, to do what we did. We can’t tally up how many we’ve saved against the ones we sacrificed.”

Fairhand wiped at his eyes, trying to compose himself before he continued. “I don’t care what you think of me. But there are things about Family Forward that you ought to know.

“Before the Empire fell, the Director was an actuary. Most of his work involved questions like answering whether or not it was cost-effective to use imported slave labor instead of paying desperate locals. Shortly before the war, Ira-Jann was sent to a world where the local sentients had five genders, defined both by physical traits and moon phase. There were strict rules about how the genders could interact, and when. The germ of Family Forward was when Ira-Jann looked out his window and saw the aliens stoning one of their own kind to death in the public square, because they did something during the waxing moon instead of the waning one. Ira-Jann was fascinated by the idea that culture could kill for an arbitrary definition of sex.

“His first interest was always statistics, and how to manipulate them to his advantage. To maximize or minimize efficiency. We both know how hard things were when the First Order first began settling the Unknown Regions. Resources were even scarcer than they are now, and the military had priority access to them. Eventually, that caused a numerically significant change in the military’s composition. If a trans person wanted steady access to hormones, they joined the military. Gene recombinations for same-sex couples wanting children were out of civilian reach, but not an officer’s.

“The demographic difference was relatively small at first. Ira-Jann would nurture it.” As Fairhand continued, Hux felt a growing pit in his stomach. “Finally, there was something beyond mindset to separate civilians from the military. The Director never believed a single word about family values and patriotism and sacrifice. Everything we suffered—the way others look at us, like we’re subhuman, like we’re all willfully broken—was for the sake of _statistics._ He assessed how to make us vulnerable just so he could seize power.”

Most of Hux’s life had been dominated by a data point. He nearly laughed.

“Family Forward alone wasn’t enough.” Fairhand’s narration was drained of emotion. He’d known everything for a long time. “There had to be an initial wedge, something for people to be afraid of. So he manufactured the famines. It was easy; all he had to do was alter the right sections of data, and suddenly warehouses were ‘empty.’ Food rotted while millions starved to death. The Director took credit for feeding the hunger he himself created. People gave him all the power he needed after that.”

The holorecording’s sound faded into white noise, as if someone had fired a blaster by his ear. Civilians had suffered the most; the military had its own supply chain, which was why Hux showed up to school well-fed when the cafeteria was empty and his classmates were literally dying at their desks. He tried to imagine the depth of Ira-Jann’s narcissism, killing millions so he could make a mob out of the survivors.   

Hux stumbled into the refresher just in time to throw up. It was a waste of food. Ren’s voice came in over the comm, reporting the Resistance’s success against the Star Destroyer. Only a few survivors found, and the captain confirmed dead. Hux couldn’t bring himself to care. He had just enough presence of mind to absent himself from bridge duty before he laid his head against the cool durasteel floor.

Vale might have been more patient, if he’d known Family Forward was a sham.

 

* * *

 

It took a few hours for Hux to properly reassess the situation. Personal feelings aside, Ira-Jann’s hypocrisy had vast practical applications. Fairhand had potentially delivered the First Order’s civilians into Hux’s hands, which almost made up for his treachery and lying. But evidence of the Director’s role in the famines had to be gathered, and the truth could not be revealed until the perfect means and moment arrived.

Hux still felt so outraged that it seemed to sit with him, a thing with weight and presence that he couldn’t shake off. Somehow, he would have to keep looking Ira-Jann in the face with only his normal degree of loathing. He was on the verge of composure when the damn comlink showed another incoming message.

This one had a new source. Hux’s pessimistic first thought was that Ren’s security had been compromised, though Fairhand may have just remembered another, even more devastating detail about the Director. Preemptively wincing, Hux turned the comlink back on.

Snoke’s shuttle was so dark that Hux could barely see anything but Ren’s pale face and two alien hands. “You are an instrument, Kylo Ren,” Snoke murmured, “such as the galaxy has never known, and you are mine to wield, not Armitage Hux’s.”

Worse unfolded. The hardest part to watch was when Ren covered his mouth to hide the ragged, hysterical edge to his breathing. Everything after was an automatic, conditioned response. Hux knew the look of someone who’d surrendered their free will; his father had perfected creating it in the stormtroopers.  

_Kylo would give me anything, even your life._

What did Snoke expect Hux to make of the holorecording? Was he supposed to see Ren as soiled property? A nascent traitor? Nothing Ren did was willing. Snoke’s grip on his mind was absolute, but Ren’s psyche was slowly unspooling before their eyes, desperate to shatter rather than to obey Snoke’s orders.

_I trust you to respond to this in a professional manner._

 

* * *

 

The tracker worked perfectly. Hux reached Snoke’s ship within hours of receiving his message. He imagined Snoke’s terror as, instead of receiving the surrender he expected, his sensors reported an _Upsilon_ -class command shuttle moments before it opened fire, blowing out the ship’s hyperdrive.

“Open your hangar bay or be destroyed,” Hux said over the comm channel. “You have two minutes.”

Ninety seconds later, the hangar bay opened. His stormtroopers went ahead of him, scouting the ship for resistance that wouldn’t come. They quickly reported the ship secured, one medical droid eliminated. “We’re at the door you described, sir,” said the sergeant. “Attaching thermal detonators. Thirty second countdown.” Hux heard the explosion all the way in the shuttle. “All clear. Xeno in sight.”

“Good work. Make no contact.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Hux proceeded to Snoke’s chamber. Immediate and decisive action was one of Hux’s greatest pleasures, and a rare one. Too much of his life involved waiting. Snoke would suffer, because he deserved it and because Hux had to spare too many others whose necks ought to be wrung. He lowered his hand to his blaster, feeling the briefly lost thrill of control once again.

Snoke was seated just as Hux had last seen him, looking like a ghoul Ren had dug up and posed. Turning his black eyes towards Hux, Snoke waited.

“Don’t get up on my account,” Hux said, walking closer. “You will tell me what you did to Kylo, or I’ll take great pleasure in shooting you now instead of later.” Hux lifted the blaster to Snoke’s head, nudging his fragile temple with the muzzle.

To his credit, Snoke did not flinch. “What did you do to him?” Hux demanded. “Brainwashing, clearly.”

“Kylo is already on his way here. The timing of your visit was unfortunate.”

“I’m not afraid of him. Now talk, creature.” Hux struck Snoke across the face with his blaster, delighted by the sound of the bones in Snoke’s nose cracking. He wanted to keep going until Snoke’s face was pulp. “Talk. Play for time.”

When Snoke leaned his head away from the blaster, Hux moved with him. “Very well, General,” said Snoke. “I started when he was a child. Without my care, the boy he was would have become your enemy.”

As soon as Snoke began his self-aggrandizing account of Ren’s corruption, Hux flicked his thumb over the audio recorder he had hidden on his blaster. Snoke outlined over a decade of manipulation with pride, detailing Ren’s growing helplessness with affection. The massacre at Skywalker’s school had given Ren the ruthlessness he needed. He could kill without hesitation and remorse, because he already had the blood of his fellow students on his hands. Hux adjusted his grip on his blaster when Snoke described the Force beast, more disturbed by Ren’s innocence than the mysticism. Who was Ren, if he wasn’t the Jedi Killer?

“You must leave me alive,” Snoke said. “If Kylo knew how he was deceived, do you think he’d be of any use to you? He’ll crawl back to his family, and to the light. What would _Ben Organa_ do for the First Order? For you?”  

Snoke’s understanding of humans was flawed; identity wasn’t a switch one could turn on and off based on available information. Hux would have changed so much about himself if that were true. But despite Snoke’s ignorance, the danger that Ren might change sides—or at least abandon Hux’s—was real.

Hux’s comlink broke the chain of his thoughts. “Hostile on the ship!” reported the sergeant, just before the comlink cut off her scream. The stormtroopers had been some of Hux’s best.

“You _are_ afraid of him,” Snoke whispered. “It’s not too late.”

The crackling drone of Ren’s lightsaber made Hux turn his head. Ren was standing in the blown-out ruins of the door, horror showing on his unmasked face. Hux had perhaps a second left to decide whether or not Ren was better with Snoke dead, or alive.

His reflexes spared him from making a decision, automatically squeezing the trigger before Ren could stop him. The bolt left nothing of Snoke’s head behind. If only Hux could do that to more of his rivals.

Invisible fingers tightened around Hux’s windpipe. He was lifted off the floor as he struggled to breathe, unable to stop himself from pointlessly trying to break Ren’s hold on him. This was how Darth Vader’s victims had felt, stars flashing in front of their eyes as they became another part of Vader’s legend. His absolute, arbitrary discipline.

Yellow was starting to stain Ren’s brown irises as his upraised hand stayed steady. “You took him from me,” Ren said quietly. Something else was speaking through him. Hux could almost see it, the darkness that hungrily followed in Ren’s shadow. Or perhaps that was just the oxygen deprivation. “You betrayed me. Lied.”

Hux could only gasp for air, truth trapped in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some self-indulgent notes for this chapter: 
> 
> 'Vale' means goodbye in Latin. It's most commonly associated with Catullus 101, _frater ave atque vale_ , where he's wishing hail and farewell to his dead brother. 'Hail and farewell' is also a tradition in the U.S. Army and Navy, where a change in command is celebrated by honoring the departing officer and welcoming the new one (usually with a party or a dinner).


	11. mark of the beast

Hunger and purpose leered over Kylo’s shoulder. The dark side desired Hux for itself, wanted him broken and sacrificed. To kill what he loved was always the dark side’s final test. Snoke had told Kylo so often of their superiority, of their high destiny, of their command of the Force that made them the masters of life and death. But Snoke had ended with his head atomized, truly dead at last by the hand of someone completely dumb to the Force.

Hux kept struggling against the phantom fingers closing his windpipe, twitching pointlessly like a fish on a hook. He was insignificant, and a traitor. Nothing more than a blot on history, someone who if he were remembered at all, it would be only for what he was to Kylo: an offering. The dark side whispered to Kylo of infinite power, and he could almost hear it breathe. Like a hulking beast, licking its lips and lowering its muzzle to Kylo’s throat. _Beloved_ , it said.

Ice shot through Kylo’s veins, his fingers going nerveless as the dark side retreated. Hux fell to the floor, weakly supporting his weight on all fours and taking great gulps of air. “What’s wrong, Kylo?” Hux said, not looking up. “Suddenly lost your stomach for killing? Reached your quota? Or was it that you remembered who the fuck I am?”

Kylo looked back to Snoke’s corpse. “He created me.”

“He manipulated and abused you. I made him confess to it.” Hux got to his feet, taking his blaster back in hand as he leaned against the wall. “Everything you thought Snoke was, and that you were, was a lie.” Pressing a button on the blaster’s side, Hux withdrew a datacube and tossed it towards Kylo. “The audio’s in there.”

If Hux had any thoughts underneath his anger, Kylo could not read them. He had only his own failing mind for company. Snoke was dead. What did Kylo have left? He turned the datacube over in his hand. Nothing, probably.

“Listen to it, damn you!” Hux’s shout echoed through the empty starship.

“I will,” Kylo replied, putting the datacube in his pocket. “Not now.”  

Being alone was too much to bear. He walked towards Hux, slowly enough to let Hux flee if he wanted. But Hux stayed where he was, fury giving way to fear and disappointment when Kylo boxed him in with his arms on either side of him. Kylo wanted to stroke his angrily flushed cheek, feel the still-living heat of him under his fingers in a room full of death of all kinds. He did not dare. All he could do was lean forward, close enough to sense Hux’s breath against his face. Hux thought Kylo was all predator now, a beast like the thing always following behind him, always ready to feed on Kylo’s loves.

“Why am I still alive?” Hux asked.

“Because I want you alive.”

“Your eyes were turning yellow.”

The mark of the Sith. Snoke had always warned against allowing the dark side too much of himself. “What color are they now?” asked Kylo.

“Just brown. I used to think it was quite an attractive color.” Kylo heard the unmistakable sound of the blaster charging as Hux held the muzzle to Kylo’s chin, forcing him to look towards the ceiling. “Why am I still alive? Give me an answer.”

There was only one. “I love you.”

He felt Hux’s mind coil inwards, giving itself over to frost and cultivated emptiness. Hux knew that he loved Kylo back, and that Kylo had sensed it for a long time. But acknowledging it, after what had happened, was too much.

“What _use_ is that to me?” Hux said.

Kylo could not think of one. Where had love brought him? Away from his parents, to hunt and murder for someone who had lied to him. What was next? Hux would demand more death than Snoke ever had. Luke had told Ben that compassion was the most essential part of being a Jedi; relieving suffering, of seeing no one more worthy of saving than another, was the only way to achieve peace. That was one of the first lessons Ben failed: compassion.

Hux pushed Kylo away, and Kylo allowed him to wordlessly leave him behind. Kylo waited until the click of Hux’s boots faded before he went to Snoke’s side. He was so tall, free of his weakness in life. Blood slowly seeped from his neck; it would probably do that for a long time, Snoke’s third heart pumping oxygen through a leaderless body. That was something Kylo could understand very well. He lay down next to Snoke, the last of his creator’s departing heat warming his back, and played the datacube.

What do you do when the truth that saved you was just another lie? Kylo was not who he thought he was. He was not anyone, without Snoke. His life had grown around two things: that he had slaughtered Luke’s students, and that he could not control his powers. Everything that he had done for Snoke, out of gratitude and need, had been built on lies. Kylo’s hands were free of the blood of the Padawans, but not all who followed after. The Grand Plan Snoke had given him was no better than ashes.

He did not forget to take the holocrons Snoke had hoarded for over a century before he set the shuttle to self-destruct.

 

* * *

 

When Kylo returned to his apartment, he did nothing. He deactivated his droid and stretched out on his bed, still wearing the clothes stained with Snoke’s blood, and contemplated the ceiling. His comm beeped periodically, alerting him to meetings and messages that he missed. It was a state like meditation, except no peace or guidance came out of it. Kylo did not know where to begin unraveling the path he had started on.

There was an old Sith legend about a woman who tried to take knowledge from a beast at the heart of a maze, so she left a trail of silk behind her. She never made it back, because the beast ate her. Others followed the line of silk and met the same fate. Darth Traya, a Sith Lord of uncommon wisdom, heard of the beast. Unlike all the others, she avoided the silk path and followed the dark one. She came across the beast unawares, as it waited for another meal to come with the silk. The beast was slain, and Traya’s legend grew.

But there was no silk or darkness to mark Kylo’s way. The beast had already found him. _Beloved_. Snoke had been careful to protect Kylo from the dark side, keeping it forever at bay. Now Kylo knew why. He had come so close to killing Hux and letting the dark side have him.

Hux was lost to him. Nothing had been in Hux’s thoughts when he left; his face was the contemptuous stare of a First Order recruitment holo. It was convenient that Hux’s feelings for Kylo had died, if he tried for dispassion. Only Snoke had given Kylo the aggrandizing confidence that together they could rule the galaxy and fix what was diseased. Hux still wanted power, but Kylo had tried to kill him, and then lost his nerve. Or came to his senses, if he looked at it another way.

Kylo was no _use_ to Hux. Just a botched rebel son, who was not sure he wanted to be of use to anyone at all. Even himself. He decided that he would starve. With his health, it would take weeks, though they would pass quickly if Kylo meditated. The Sith sometimes chose that death when they felt their powers weaken, and their withered, sacramental bodies would be entombed on Korriban. Being found dead in his apartment was less grand, but it suited Kylo’s many failures.

The sound of the apartment door sliding open pushed Kylo out of his meditation. Only Garrota had the combination to the lock, though Kylo hoped for an assassin. Unfortunately, it was Fairhand. A minor betrayal on Garrota’s part that Kylo had no energy to deal with.

“Emperor’s balls,” said Fairhand, “you haven’t even changed your clothes in four days. Is that blood?”

“Get out,” Kylo replied, rolling over to face away from him.

“Ms. Terza told me what you’ve been up to. It’s very insidious.” Judging by his footfalls, Fairhand was walking into the kitchen. Kylo listened to the tap running, then Fairhand returned and set a glass of water on the nightstand. He sat on the bed, putting himself back in Kylo’s line of sight. “Did you kill Snoke? Rule of Two and all that?”

Questions were galling. “Hux did.”

Fairhand raised his eyebrows. “That was competitive of him. But clearly it didn’t go over well.” An understatement. The background noise of Fairhand’s mind was mostly curious, lightly edged with concern. “Garrota suspects that Snoke was manipulating you.”

“He was.” Kylo reached out for the glass of water, not wanting to carry on the conversation Fairhand had decided to have while his mouth was dry. He had neglected drinking, as much as he could. “He lied to me for most of my life. He made me love him for it.”

“I know what it’s like, to live in lies,” Fairhand said softly. “But it hurt you to lose them.”

“I have no center without Snoke. And I miss him, despite all he did.” Kylo wondered why he was confessing so much to Fairhand. Then it occurred to him that as Minister for the Protection of Families, it had been Fairhand’s job to make people admit everything. He was practiced in it.

“What about General Hux?’ Fairhand asked.

Kylo almost kept silent; he was exhausted by mind games and wanted to deny Fairhand out of obstinacy. “I nearly killed him. I couldn’t control myself. He left.”

“Hux will forgive you.”

“Why?”

With a curl of his lip, Fairhand replied, “Because no one else can give him what he wants like you can. If you make yourself decent and take me out to lunch, I’ll tell you even more about him.”

 

* * *

 

 _Taste of Alderaan_ was Kylo’s favorite restaurant for two reasons. 1) The name was so tacky that he ran no risk of running into his mother there, and 2) it was extremely dark and difficult to identify anyone at all. That did not stop their server from starting in recognition when she saw Kylo, but if she wanted to keep her job she would wait for them to leave before she posted to the HoloNet. He could picture Intwing Sluice’s byline already: Senator Ren Dumps Poe Dameron For Handsome New Mystery Man.

“I’m honestly shocked that people in the Republic trust the news,” Fairhand said, in between bites of candied muja fruit. “It’s like leading nerfs into a slaughterhouse. Your historical record is also filled with lies. The First Order’s is also filled with lies, of course, but we don’t pretend.”

“You and Hux are very alike.” Kylo had discovered he was hungry as soon as he smelled food, and had already finished two plates of nerf steak. His decision to become a Sith mummy was apparently still back in his apartment.  

“It’s an entirely superficial resemblance, let me assure you. The Order likes its leaders with a certain fatalism.” Fairhand ate so slowly and daintily that Kylo was frustrated just watching him. 

“How can you want to help me and Hux, if you loathe him so much?”

“I have a utilitarian streak. Most of us who lived through the famines do.” After finishing his second glass of wine and reaching for the carafe, Fairhand said, “Besides, little as I want to give Hux credit for being multifaceted, we’ve seen very different sides of him. I imagine he must be almost tolerable to his lovers.”

“He’s pleasant.” Kylo crossed his arms in irritation. “Also a good lay. Has a filthy mouth and doesn’t flinch at large—”

“It’s so odd to hear you speak like that,” Fairhand replied, blithely cutting Kylo off. “Your public manners tend to be a little antique, like Vader’s. I’m sorry I’ve upset you—as I’ve said, the man I know is quite different.”

“Tell me about him. It’s why I’ve paid for your lunch.”

“Armitage Hux is someone of unusual ambition and standard cruelty. I’ve known him to be vindictive, obscenely patient, and meticulous about his public image. He’s very loyal to the few friends he has, who conveniently bear a great deal of influence and picked his arse out of the fire when he let his boyfriend make off with a Star Destroyer six years ago. That got him within a hair of being executed for treason and if he had said a single thing under interrogation, we probably wouldn’t be here talking to each other. The Director took notice of him after that, though Hux was only a major.”

Six years ago, Kylo had given himself to Snoke. Hux falling at the same time had the comforting ring of fate to it. And the knowledge that Kylo had arranged for Hux’s ex-lover to be spaced by the Resistance was the first morsel of satisfaction Kylo had felt in a long time.  

“Hux is this close to being a good villain,” Fairhand said, pinching his forefinger and thumb together. “I wonder if he might have been a good person, if he weren’t raised by Brendol.”

“What was Hux’s mother like?”

“Hm. There are no interesting records outside of her defection, though I can give you her name. She was a kitchen servant from the Outer Rim, which probably accounts for half of Hux’s grandiosity and all the overdone rhoticisms.”

Kylo was impressed that Fairhand had pulled off saying the word ‘rhoticisms’ as if it were a normal part of a person’s vocabulary. “You truly hate giving Hux any credit.”

“He’d do the same for me.”

“Which means I still don’t know why you’ve dragged me out of bed to tell me state secrets and encourage my continued alliance with Hux.”

“Wanting to change the galaxy is beyond arrogant, but you and Hux are uniquely positioned to do it. I won’t be left out. The way the galaxy is now?” Fairhand raised his glass and drained it. “I don’t see how you two could fuck it up any more than it already is. Cheers.”  

 

* * *

 

Finding Hux’s mother took nothing but entering her name, Adira Altis, into the Republic pension database. She was a highly decorated pilot who had “taken early retirement,” as they called it, after her body kept rejecting the biomechanical prosthetic that was supposed to replace her right arm. Altis had settled on Coruscant, which had become a planet-spanning slum in the absence of the Empire. The cost of living was low enough to live on a pension without having to look for work.

Kylo doubted Hux would like whatever he found out about his mother. But in the absence of any contact from him, Kylo would chase after his shadows. It kept Kylo distracted from his own discord. He lacked Fairhand’s optimism that he could recover anything of what had been lost on the shuttle.

Altis lived on the thirty-ninth floor of an apartment building just shy of being called shabby. Alien children played in the hallway, reenacting the Galactic Civil War and getting under Kylo’s feet. Pausing outside Altis’s door, he felt like he ought to make a good impression, then pressed the comm.

“What’s it now? I’m already contributing to your damn war orphans fund,” Altis said, her Rimmer brogue obvious even through the bad speaker.

“I’m from the pensions office, ma’am. You’re due an increase,” Kylo replied.

“Pull the other one.” Kylo was being watched from the security cam above the door. “You’re definitely a burglar. Also, your hair’s sloppy and you look like a shite version of that senator from Naboo who’s always in the gossip holos.” A fair assessment. “Wait—you are the senator.” The door slid open halfway. “I hope you’re actually here to give me more money.”

The first thing Kylo noticed about Altis was that she was even taller than her son. Her I.D. gave her age as fifty-five, though she seemed older. She had let her hair go gray, cutting it close on one side and shaved on the other. Altis had clearly given Hux his slender build, his sloping cheekbones and his straight nose. But her skin was deeply tanned from the outdoors, and she leaned against the door rather than standing stiffly. Her right arm was a simple mechanical prosthesis that she made no effort to hide. Daring people to stare.

“I’m here about your son,” said Kylo.

Frowning, Altis reached for the door’s console, her fingers hovering over the ‘close’ button. “I don’t have any kids.”

“Armitage.”

She winced at Hux’s name. “Come in.” Altis shut the door as soon as Kylo was inside. Her apartment was a single room, cluttered with scrap and take-out boxes that she quickly cleared off the table and dumped into the incinerator. Turning her back on Kylo, she filled up an old-fashioned kettle with water and set it on the heating unit. “I’m making tea. If you don’t drink any this’ll be even more awkward than it has to be.”

“Thank you.” Kylo sat in one of the two dining chairs, trying to sort through the anxiety he sensed from Altis. Her mind was a little like a trap, as easily closed as her son’s.

“Who told you?”

“I have connections.”

“I’ve got nothing useful for you.” Altis said nothing else until the tea had finished brewing. She set a cup in front of Kylo and joined him at the table. It was an unexpected gesture of hospitality that she had probably made just to give herself something to do with her hand. “The last time I saw him he was six years old, and he didn’t come with a label saying that one day he’d be in charge of a bunch of regressive lunatics. He was a normal kid. Mostly. He started talking awful early and tried to train our cat to shake hands, which I suppose was a sign. Why do you care?”

The truth tumbled out before Kylo could think of a useful lie. “We’re involved.”

Altis’s face fell. “He’s like that? There?” Kylo nodded. “Poor thing,” she said, eyes on her cup. “Is he as bad as he seems on the holos?”

According to Fairhand, Hux wanted to be. “No, he’s not. The holos are mostly a front.” Kylo would have given the details she so clearly wanted, except they would pain her. Hux was not easily described in positive terms. “But of course he’s done awful things. I’m not a particularly good person either.”

“I knew Brendol would ruin him.”

“So why did you leave him to Brendol?” he asked, discreetly pressing the recording device in his sleeve.

“I didn’t,” she replied. The question outraged her. “I fucked Brendol because he thought I had the best genetics on staff, and I thought maybe it’d get me ahead. He wasn’t impressed with the results. Then the war started, and Brendol decides he hasn’t got any other kids so he may as well work with Ari. He gave me two choices: he could leave me on Arkanis with nothing, or he’d give me enough credits to get off-planet if I’d help him stage a little drama. I don’t know, maybe a better mother would’ve refused so General Hux wouldn’t grow up thinking Mummy didn’t love him. That’s required, isn’t it? To make a proper villain? Ari was fucked either way, because Brendol was going to have him regardless.

“Brendol made me abandon my son. I had to take him to Brendol and say I didn’t want him anymore. Ari clung to my leg and fucking wailed. Really wailed, like if he did his best impersonation of a siren and got snot everywhere it’d make his father less of a monster. Brendol had to peel the future First Order general off me.” She dabbed at her eyes, angry at herself. “Kark it, now I’m crying too. I got my arse to Yavin and joined up with the Rebellion. I’d always wanted to be a pilot and back then, the Rebellion would put you in an X-wing as long as you had a pulse and two arms. I was good, though. Until I didn’t have two arms.” She finally sipped at her tea. “So now what are you going to do with my story?”

“Tell him, I think.”

Altis sighed. “I don’t want to know what else you’re up to with him. I’m sure I wouldn’t like it.” Then she reached into her pocket for a holocube. “I have a few holos of Ari. I can’t show anyone else; it’s not done to brag about your Imp son at veterans’ support meetings.” The cube displayed static images of a six-year-old who looked far from becoming the bloody lieutenant in his arrest record. “See? Perfectly normal. Cute. Oh, there he is with the damn cat. He doesn’t have a cat anymore, does he?”

“I don’t think so.” After Altis shut down the cube, Kylo asked, “Would you ever want to speak to him?”

“It’s been thirty years. We wouldn’t have anything to say to each other.”  

Hux’s mother had given up on him. It seemed wrong, compared to how Kylo was counting on his own to still have some faith in him. He took out a credit chip, entering a sum he thought Altis would accept. His original plan had been to leave her without the memory of ever speaking to him, but he was certain Altis would tell no one of his visit. “I’m transferring some credits to you. It’s enough to get off Coruscant. You can ask for more.”

Altis’s expression did not change when she saw the number on the chip. “Don’t come back,” she said. She still took the credits.

 

* * *

 

Back in Republic City, the sun slowly set over the polluted haze of the city’s skyline. Improving air quality had been foremost in the city’s politics for years, since it affected rich people looking out from their balconies, as Kylo was now. Snoke’s death had left him even wealthier than before. As Snoke’s only heir, the Banking Clan had sent him every last credit to Snoke’s name. The Clone Wars had been waged with credits, and the Civil War with people. Snoke had thought to combine both. Kylo had less faith that another war could end them all, but a war was coming. It had been set into motion long before Kylo had been born, and nothing Kylo did or did not do could stop it.

Kylo had sensed Snoke’s approval of the destruction of the Hosnian system. If Kylo looked back objectively, he knew why: the planet’s death would take Kylo away from almost everyone he had ever known. Make him more entirely Snoke’s. Even now, Kylo saw devotion in Snoke’s actions.

He found himself longing to talk to Luke, wherever he was. Luke trusted in the Force to guide him on the kindest path. It was just one of the many ways Kylo proved Luke wrong—perhaps seeing his beliefs so shattered by the Force’s malevolence at the school had been why Luke had disappeared. 

There is no purpose in death, Luke had always reminded Kylo. Watching Republic City change with the sun, Kylo thought that it had to survive the war. He went inside so he could compose a message to Hux. Kylo struggled with the beginning, not knowing how to start the apology he had to make, and that Hux would not accept. “I am so sorry, but I was upset and the Force wanted me to kill you. It wants me to kill many others; don’t take it personally.” Explaining the Force to someone insensitive to it always made it sound like cultish mysticism.

_The dark side will always hunt me, as it wants to hunt you. I cannot say that I was completely in its thrall on the shuttle. I had enough control to stop, which means that I could have resisted starting. Fairhand thinks you will forgive me._

_I don’t think you should. I don’t think you will._

_I spoke to your mother because I wanted to offer you something. I know it’s the answer to a question you would not ask, but she may give you some clarity, or relief. Or perhaps it will crush you. We are still alike. You do not desire to be manipulated any more than I do._

_We need to speak in person if we are to continue with the plan. Too much has changed. There isn’t time for us to avoid each other. I will be on Naboo for the next ten days. It’s for a rather complicated festival, and I cannot stomach attending the Senate yet. I inherited Emperor Palpatine’s estate, including many of his personal effects. Yes, that is a bribe._

_Please come. Even if it’s just to slap me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shoutout to Epiccuppycake's suffering, which encouraged me to finish the chapter.


	12. the hand that feeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold! The story is not dead or abandoned. I'm slowly getting back into the swing of things after the unending hellscape that's been the last few months. There are some references in this chapter to Aftermath: Empire's End.

For the fourth time in a row, Hux woke up gasping and terrified. He threw off the covers and stumbled out of bed. The cold floor was a welcome shock to his bare feet as he drew his greatcoat around him, keeping out the perpetual cold of Starkiller Base. Hux slammed the button to slide back the shutters. There were thousands of kilometers of snow in every direction, reflecting the bright sun of the tidally locked planet’s—of the weapon’s—eternal day. Without the tinted transparisteel, Hux could go snowblind if he stared long enough.   

By the Emperor’s shade, Hux was disturbed. He kept dreaming he was back on the shuttle, being strangled like some pointless lackey. Hux had built his life around the belief in an ordered universe, where a man could shape his destiny according to dispassionate, inflexible laws. Even the Force had to follow them, because it was controlled by people no more or less extraordinary than anyone else.  

For just a moment, Hux’s dying brain had perceived the Force as alive. A creature had loomed behind Ren, something that was mostly hunger, a starving mouth with its crooked limbs bent inwards so it could rest its head on Ren’s shoulder. _That_ was what desired Hux’s death, because he came between it and Ren. Hux was becoming part of Ren’s story, a notch on the Skywalker galactic bedpost.  

There was no holding back the shiver which came with the thought. What Hux ought to do was cut ties with Ren and return to his original plans. Even if it weren’t good strategy, it would spare him from the Force’s malice. Yet a ghastly part of himself kept him from sending that message to Ren. The delay made Hux angrier by the day.

“I’ll send the damn thing tomorrow,” Hux muttered, putting on the rest of his uniform so he could head to the officers’ bar.

* * *

_To: phasma@st.fo.net_

_Subject: RE: Report on FN-2187_

_Accelerate his deployment. The conditioning should carry through in a combat situation and we can fast-track him into an NCO position. He’s a valuable resource that’s not to be wasted on your gut feelings, Captain._

“May I buy you a drink?” asked a woman, startling Hux out of his work. She was dressed severely, only the tailoring and the net of fire rubies in her short hair revealing her wealth. Without waiting for a reply, she joined him in the booth. Hux had met her before: Tierzin Fang, the CEO and owner of Kuat Drive Yards. “No need to look so horrified, General,” she said as she signaled for the bartender. “I’m wired the same way you are.”

Fang was, by dint of her manufacturing, the fifth and final member of High Command. Hux had yet to determine why she supported the First Order, when the Republic was far more profitable for her. “The bar, Ms. Fang, is complimentary.”

“That seems like an awful waste of my financial contributions.” To the bartender, she added, “I’ll have a Chandrilan gin fizz. Or whatever you can approximate.”

“Is that why you’re here early?” Hux asked. “To check up on your money?”

“Mm. No, but I enjoy a little cultural tourism. You can’t feel subversive fucking human women anywhere else in the galaxy. Don’t you find all the secrecy exciting?” Then she laughed. “The look on your face! You poor, oppressed little thing.”

“Don’t condescend to me.”

She let the silence stretch out. It was her preferred weapon in meetings: staying silent when everyone had to wait on her reply. The bartender returned with her drink, which she took with a smile. Tapping the garnish of fruit against the rim of her glass, Fang said, “There’s something I need from you.”  

“I suppose I’ll have to provide it.”

“Unfortunately, you’ve got a bit of a choice in this.” She put a sound shield on the table. No one else in the bar would be able to hear them.  “I want your vote on Hosnian Prime. Everyone else on the council has made their opinion clear, yet you haven’t said a word. People who know you say you’ll vote for the elimination of the entire system.” 

Hux hadn’t spoken to anyone about how he was planning to vote. “Who told you that?”

“Destroying Hosnian Prime would set back our cause—it may even destroy us. Half the Republic is nostalgic for the security of the Empire, which puts them already on our side, and destroying the Senate would legitimize the Resistance. The last thing we should give anyone in the Republic is a sense of urgency.”

Every Republican Hux had met was convinced that their government was vital for destabilization; it made no sense to him, no matter how many reports he was sent. “You’d also lose a few billion customers.”

“I don’t need credits. I already have enough to make anyone gag on them. What I want is to shape the galaxy, like my mother did.” Reverently lowering her voice, Fang asked, “Have you ever seen something as beautiful as a Star Destroyer raining fire on a planet?”

So, Fang was a sadist rather than a profiteer. That made her much easier to predict. Star Destroyers were inspiring, yes, but messy and slow. “There are more total ways to subdue a world.”

“Yes. But if you use the Starkiller to ‘subdue’ Hosnian Prime, you’ll start the wrong kind of war—you’ll take away people’s choice _not_ to fight. I know exactly how strong your navy is, because I made it, and General Organa vanquished a far greater one. And most of the Rebel leaders are still alive. The Empire’s are all dead.” Fang waved her hand. “The First Order has fanaticism. It lacks experience.” 

“How is that any different from the Rebellion’s success?”

Fang replied, “The Death Stars were brought down by freak luck, and the Jedi.”

“Then it’d be to your advantage to help me locate Luke Skywalker,” said Hux. “Your resources in the Republic are far greater than mine.”

“I thought your type didn’t go for the old religion?” Fang asked. 

“We can’t discount anything just because we don’t understand it.”

“All I can tell you is that he’s rumored to be searching for the last Jedi temple. There’s a map to it, supposedly. Odds are that both are far out from the Core.” After taking a long sip of her drink, Fang said, “You’re more flexible than I thought. Will you actually consider what I said about Hosnian Prime?”

Of course he would, but he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. “If we make no mistakes, we’re on the verge of starting the last war in the galaxy.”

“There’s always another war, General Hux.” She rose to her feet. “Make ours count.”

* * *

With Fang gone, Hux could go back to his work. But now he was thinking about the long development of the Death Stars. The Empire had been cautious, working up from small targets like Jedha City to the entire planet of Scarif. Hux had never thought that the destruction of Jedha’s Temple of the Kyber had had any strategic importance, never guessing at the nature of the Emperor’s war against the Jedi. What was it really? Perhaps an internal tremor of the Force, annihilating one sect to uplift another.

Perusing the files on Jedha’s worship of the Force brought Hux to Jakku. There was a settlement of the Church of the Force there. Hux hadn’t heard of it, but he remembered almost nothing of his time on Jakku. He could recall only Sloane, and Rax’s promise to him about the children.

It couldn’t hurt to send some scouts out to Jakku and ask about the map. Just as he sent out the order, he got a message notification from Ren’s comlink. He clenched his jaw. Whatever Ren had to say, Hux didn’t want to hear it.

But he still got up and returned to his room. The comm waited on his desk, impatiently flashing a blue light until Hux pressed ‘display.’ He was relieved to see Ren looking like the last week had treated him cruelly.

“The dark side will always hunt me,” Ren began, “as it wants to hunt you. I cannot say that I was completely in its thrall on the shuttle. I had enough control to stop, which means that I could have resisted starting. Fairhand thinks you will forgive me.”

Ren didn’t seem to know that Hux had seen the monster. Perhaps Ren hadn’t even known it was there, with that thing deep in his head. Hux had considered the possibility that he’d been hallucinating, but it made too much damn sense when he added up all of his other observations.

“I don’t think you should. I don’t think you will,” Ren said.

Hux snorted. Ren’s self-flagellation was melodramatic enough to be endearing. Then Ren said something else, and it was like Hux heard nothing at all. He groped for the off button, suddenly so clumsy that he nearly didn’t stop the feed in time.

His mother. Ren had spoken to that—that traitor, as if Hux could ever care what had happened to her. Bringing someone into the world merited no gratitude or lasting affection, particularly after she had deserted him. Being born was an invitation to be brutalized. Hux paced the room, glaring out the window at the soothingly empty planet.

Oh, fuck it. He was thirty-four, not six, and he’d excelled without her. Hux turned the comm back on. Her voice wasn’t unfamiliar. Hux must have carried it with him, stuffed it down with everything else he couldn’t think about. Like his first months with his father.

Brendol _had_ loved him eventually. But Hux had had to earn it.

On Jakku, there’d been the gray rooms. Durasteel, of course, but the color stuck with him the most. He’d stared at the walls instead of looking at the children. Hux had to be more useful to his father than they were. They wanted to kill him. That was almost all they wanted, the opportunity to do violence. Hux had given it to them. His father soon realized that the children had been conditioned too viciously, and they were removed. Their bodies were alkalized and flushed out through the waste system, while the Commandant doted on his son instead.

“Would you ever want to speak to him?” Ren asked as Hux’s attention returned to the recording.

“It’s been thirty years,” his mother said. “We wouldn’t have anything to say to each other.” 

She was right. It felt… disarming, to realize he bore some resemblance to his mother. Hux couldn’t blame his father for the lying, when he hadn’t loved Hux yet. Nothing important had changed.

He started making arrangements to go to Naboo.

* * *

Hux was entirely, happily, alone on the shuttle. Going to Naboo without an escort could very quickly turn into a colossal mistake that would make Rattatak look like tripping on the way to the refresher. But he also couldn’t stand to be near other people right now.

Maybe he was still upset about his mother’s revelation. There were so many others things it could be, though, that it wasn’t worth trying to isolate the last straw on the bantha’s back. Hux’s life was a slow-burning hyperdrive fire that Ren kept throwing fuel onto. The ship’s comm went off, and Hux was ready to forward it to Mitaka until he saw the sender ID. He switched it to audio only.

“I just got the news,” Sere said. Hux had left his fellow general nominally in charge of the base. “Where are you going?”

“Naboo.”

Sere whistled. “I thought nothing could pull you away so close to deployment.”

“Are you going to lecture me on how I should spare Hosnian Prime? Tierzin Fang beat you to it.”

“Brendol would vote for destruction.”

“I know,” Hux snapped.

Sere replied, “When people say you’re not like him, it’s a compliment.”

It never felt like one.

“I’m surprised you’re not angry with me,” Sere said, after Hux kept silent.

“Who _do_ I remind you of?”

“Rae Sloane. But only when you’re at your best, so don’t let it go to your head.”  

Neither of them had mentioned Sloane in a long time. Her loss had been devastating to the military, though nothing could have stopped age from creeping up on her. Sere gave Hux a final warning about taking care of himself before he finally signed off. That left Hux to set the navicomputer for Naboo and try to catch a little sleep.

* * *

When Hux was thirteen, Sloane had visited him on Miraxis. She almost never came planetside, which made it a special occasion. A rare snow had fallen, making his father’s property look alien as Hux showed her around.

“You’ve gotten taller, Armitage,” she said. She rubbed her gloved hands together, her breathing misting in the cold air. “Not much heavier, though. Is your father treating you well?”

Smiling, Hux replied, “Very well, Admiral. But you haven’t come to see me as often as you promised.”

“You noticed.”

“Couldn’t you take me with you?” Hux asked. “I can’t stand being at school; I’m surrounded by children.”

“You _are_ a child.”

Had anyone else said that, Hux would’ve flushed with embarrassment. But from Sloane, it was affection. “Not like they are.”

She frowned as she looked down at him. The gray streak in her hair seemed to have gotten bigger. “My work is too complicated. And you’re learning important things from Brendol—things that I don’t know, and that I’ll need you to take care of for me when the time comes.”

“The stormtroopers.”

“Exactly. I can’t manage people like you can.”

Hux stood straighter and clasped his hands behind his back, wanting to look like commanding enough to have earned her praise. “Is that why you haven’t killed the Director yet?”

She nodded. “We won’t have to compromise much longer.” 

“Victory only comes through struggle,” Hux replied. It was one of the mottos painted onto the school halls.

Sloane paused and put her hand on Hux’s shoulder, turning him to face her. “Do you know why we must keep the Empire alive?”

“Because people need to be led.”

Seeing Sloane shake her head at him was devastating. Hux hated being wrong.

“Because people need to be _protected_ ,” Sloane said. “The Director is what happens when an Empire dies.”

“He’s like Rax.”

“Yes. A poison like him needs to be cut out. But you can’t be delicate about it. He’s got too much influence, too many people who will try to pick up what he dropped. It’s not enough to take off a hand, Armitage.” She lowered her own hand a few centimeters and squeezed. “You have to take the whole arm.”

* * *

Naboo was a beautifully green planet, though the wreckage of old Trade Federation _Lucrehulks_ had formed an unnatural asteroid belt around it. With Ren’s docking code, Hux was happy to let the port droid guide him in. Hux’s piloting skills were much better left untested.

“The estate of former Emperor Palpatine is over a million square acres of largely untouched forest and wetland,” the port droid chirped over the comlink. “After the Emperor’s passing, the estate went into trust. Six years ago, the anonymous executor granted the estate to Kylo Ren. Senator Ren then gave use of much of the estate to the people of Naboo, to be used for leisure and limited hunting purposes. Currently, Senator Ren is in residence for the Festival of the Moon.”

If Hux had a million square acres, he certainly wouldn’t let people play bolo-ball and catch dinner in it. “Droid, have you informed Senator Ren that his docking code’s been accessed?”

“I was right about to, sir.”

“There’s no need. I’ll inform him of my arrival myself.”

“Excellent! I am happy to obey all commands.”

Hux would have to tell Ren that his port droid ought to be spaced for stupidity. Palpatine’s immense home came into view, half of it built directly onto the slope of a mountain. It was imposing and grand, but also looked a little like a womp-rat trying to pull itself out of a hole. Several shuttles and speeder-bikes were already docked in front of the entrance, and the port droid guided him into a free spot.

The droid was in the middle of wishing Hux a most, most wonderful day when he powered down the navicomputer. Hux had considered long ago how to hide his identity on a Republican planet, just in case he had to make a tactical retreat from the Unknown Regions. His solution was a fake I.D., a grubby set of clothes, and a rebreathing helmet that he kept behind a false wall in the shuttle. He’d worry about sticking out in the crowd, but some of speeders parked nearby looked old enough to be pre-Empire.

Another droid was waiting for him when he stepped out of the shuttle. “Good day, sir!” said the protocol droid. “Welcome to the estate. You are the forty-ninth guest for the Festival of the Moon.”

“What’s that?” Hux asked, discomfited by the helmet’s distortion of his own voice.

“The Festival of the Moon is the greatest event in the galaxy,” the droid replied, then didn’t say anything else.

“Just take me inside.”

“Absolutely, sir.” The droid sharply turned around and set off. Hux had to hurry to keep up with it. “One of the things that make the Festival of the Moon, and Naboo, so great is that our nobles allow all strata of society to ask them for favors.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It’s wonderful! Senator Ren is particularly generous. Every year, he’s voted for by a ratio of nine to one!”

“I’m sure the generosity and the voting are completely unconnected,” Hux muttered.

“Only Palpatine was more popular during his time in the Senate!”

“Are the Naboo not ashamed of electing a tyrant?”

The droid tilted its head. “No other currently inhabited planet can claim to have produced an emperor. For a special, holiday rate of two hundred credits, you can get a holo taken in Palpatine’s own custom swoop-bike, and ten percent of all sales go towards supporting veterans.”  

They wended their way through gardens, entering the house through a side door rather than the front. “Tours of the interior can be had for fifty credits three times a day,” the droid said hopefully. “The Festival route doesn’t show you much, though you can see that even the service hallway is tiled with fine marble. Here we are, sir—take the first door on your left. Please don’t go to the right, as the security droids may legally shoot you.”

Hux walked out into a small audience chamber. Dozens of people were milling around, murmuring to each other as they watched a seated figure listen to a kneeling petitioner. Transformed from his usual self, Ren’s layers of finery reminded Hux of their first meeting, and the poise Ren had when he had a performance to hide in.

Ren lifted his head, his eyes scanning rapidly around the room. He said a few words to the kneeling alien to send them off, then rose to his feet. Hux froze as Ren walked towards him, the crowd parting as they probably wondered what had possessed their senator. He certainly seemed like it.

“You came,” Ren said, looking directly at Hux. “I was terrified that you wouldn’t.”

“Beings,” a garishly dressed servant announced, banging a staff against the floor, “Kylo Ren has granted his last favor and will retire for the evening.”

The crowd dispersed quickly, but Ren kept Hux in place by gently wrapping his hand around his wrist. Hux felt his pulse rising beneath Ren’s fingers; he’d planned on having more time to think, so he could watch Ren and figure out how to be around him without being carried away.

“I’m so sorry,” Ren whispered, raising his hands to Hux’s neck, just under the catches of Hux’s helmet. But he didn’t touch Hux, clearly afraid that he wanted him to go no further, no matter what he sensed. “Please never leave me again.”

“That’s a completely impractical request, Kylo.”

Hux felt like he could hardly breath. He took Ren’s hands in his and guided him to the catches. Ren caught on, lifting the helmet away from Hux’s weak fingers. Now that Hux could see Ren properly, the grieving cast of his dark eyes and an expression carefully devoid of hope, Hux realized there wasn’t any anger left in him.  

“Damn the both of us,” Hux said softly, and pulled Ren into a kiss.


	13. nightfall

Perhaps war could be the kinder way.  

Hux’s mind felt new, as stripped of surety as Kylo’s had been. He wanted to dive inside it and experience every change for himself, where bitterness had been blunted but something was still so sharp—

Firmly pushing Kylo away, Hux asked, “Can we be alone?”

“Of course.” Kylo ordered the steward out, and told him to forget about the redhead, just in case. He had no idea how recognizable Hux was outside of political circles and the Imperial loyalist corners of the HoloNet. And could anyone recognize him now? Hux’s disguise showed his normal care for completion; dirt clung to his clothes, and the smell of scrap metal. It was not a bad look on him, though his uniform suited him best.  

They had to talk about the shuttle. There was no avoiding it after the brief happiness of their reunion, and Kylo could feel Hux’s mind shutting as it always did in moments of tension. But Hux had started the kiss.

“It’s so easy for you to make people forget,” Hux observed, “like you’re dropping something to the floor.”

Kylo knew a little of how that felt, now. Being unable to trust his own memories, suspecting gaps and tricks across the landscape of his childhood. Yet he could not stop using them. “It would be much harder with you.”

“But not impossible?” Hux’s tone was mild.

“Not impossible,” Kylo said. “I wouldn’t do it.”

“That’s what the villain always says. ‘There’s no plague here. Your family is safe with me. I won’t eat you.’ Or did your mother never try to make you afraid of strangers?”

“She lacked the time.”

“Well, not everyone has the luck to be the son of a kitchen maid,” Hux replied, sneering. “You promised me a tour of Palpatine’s mansion.”

“Leaving the galactic domination for later?”

“I can afford to spare the time. Everything’s in place.”

Kylo tried not to think about what that meant as he led Hux around the property. He had researched Palpatine closely, trying to learn from his mistakes, and his aestheticism. The mansion reminded Kylo of a warren. Until the future Emperor started killing off even his most obscure cousins, the Palpatines had been a populous house.

“Why did he kill off his own family?” Hux asked.

“He didn’t want anyone with a blood claim on his legacy.”

“He’d rather the Empire fall than survive him.”

“As Palpatine saw it, he _was_ the Empire.”

Of course, Hux enjoyed hearing about Palpatine’s flaws. The cult of the Emperor had followed the Imperial Remnants to the Unknown Regions, but Hux was competitive. His impression of Palpatine’s fastidious interior decoration was cheerfully disappointed. When they entered a pointless sabacc room, Hux pronounced the word “carpet” and “real” together as if they beggared belief.

“What’s so awful about carpet?” Kylo asked.

“Dirt settles in it.”

“Then how would you floor your Imperial palace?”

After a moment, Hux replied, “Mandalorian teakwood, but only in my personal rooms. Visitors get durasteel. And before you tease me, I only thought about it after you asked.”

“I’m sure.” Kylo drew Hux into one of the dining rooms. Not even one of them had been used since Palpatine’s death, and probably most had never been touched in his life.

Looking up at the ceiling, Hux grimaced. With a gesture, Kylo used the Force to slowly rotate the massive chandelier, saying, “It’s called _A Gungan At Erotic Play_.”

“That can’t be what they look like fucking.”

“Palpatine disliked realistic representation. As well as sex, hence the Gungan cloaca hovering over the dinner guests. He only hosted people he hated in this room. Those he thought useful were sat in the blue dining room, with _The Personification of Naboo Triumphant Over the Core’s Selfish Economic Interests._ ”

“Is that one better?” Hux asked, still wrinkling his nose at the art.

“No. That one actually does look like a Gungan masturbating.”

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“Regrettably,” Kylo said. Hux was out of place in the room; the bounty hunter he was dressed like would have never been invited inside, lewd chandelier or no. “Do you want to change your clothes? The Emperor’s are in good condition.”

That got Hux’s interest. “He just left them?”

“Palpatine never came back here after he became Emperor. He was too paranoid to travel unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“He didn’t even trust Vader?”

“Especially not Vader. The Sith followed the Rule of Two. There can be only a master, and an apprentice. Palpatine knew that Vader would kill him one day. The Sith were even more of a dead end than the Jedi Order.”

Snoke had parted from the Sith’s philosophy. Even now Kylo used Snoke’s wisdom, trusting that Hux would keep the war spinning perfectly at the needle’s head of woe. _Just enough_ people would die, so long as Hux cared enough for Kylo to warp his ambitions around him.

“The Sith forced their own extinction,” Hux remarked.

“And no one mourns their passing.” Kylo took Hux by the arm, and led him to Palpatine’s bedroom.

Entering it always gave Kylo a moment of nausea. The Sith artifacts had been there long enough to permeate the place with a sense of loss, and too much time passed. There was a pillar from a Korriban tomb next to a fragment of Ajunta Pall’s robe, preserved behind transparisteel. The worst of them all was a simple rock from Malachor V, which pulsed with the dark side.

Hux was taking in the room’s dark red, covering the carpet, the walls, and the four-poster bed, where Palpatine slept alone with only his artifacts for company. Perhaps they helped him sleep. Hux turned the Malachorian rock over in his hands, feeling nothing.

“Why did he keep a rock?” he asked.

“It’s from a planet where millions died. Atrocities linger in stone.”

As if the rock burned, Hux quickly put it down. “I’m done here.”

The closet held a fortune in robes. Kylo had taken some of the most elaborate, daring the press to notice. They had not. Hux played with the motorized rack, his hand lingering on anything close to understated in the Emperor’s collection. “Was Palpatine unusual for a Sith?” he said, flicking his thumb over a jeweled collar.

“He was typical in every way. His master,” Kylo added, keeping himself from saying Snoke’s name, “was more unique.”

“The alien I killed for you.”

 _For you_. Kylo had not thought of it that way. “Why did you do it?”

“Poor trigger discipline.”

“You couldn’t have known that Snoke’s death would work in your favor.”

“It nearly didn’t. Snoke—” he said, hesitating, “—insulted me, and threatened you. I couldn’t leave you within his power.”

“Insulted you?”

“He thought he could manipulate me.”

“So you weren’t jealous,” Kylo said.

“Not at all.”  

“Possessive.” Pressing Hux against thousands of credits worth of fine wool and silk, Kylo dragged his teeth over Hux’s bottom lip before he kissed him.

“Yes,” Hux replied, yanking Kylo forward by his robe.

“If I married you, General,” Kylo murmured, “you’d become nobility. Entitled to all of this and everything like it.”

Hux’s shoulders stiffened. “That’s quite the jump from being a bastard,” he said, letting Kylo go. “You can’t legally marry me, anyway.”

“Because you’re not a citizen of the Republic?” Kylo asked. That made Hux smile, though he was still unnerved.

“You’re an enemy combatant.”

“I’m a double agent,” Kylo replied.

“You can’t really want to marry me.”

“I do.”

After a pause, Hux said, “We have to talk about the plan.”

“Of course. Over dinner?”

“Fine.”

* * *

Hux had chosen to wear one of Palpatine’s more military outfits, a tunic and trousers in navy blue, decorated with gold braid. He drank steadily over the course of their meal, seeming not to taste the array of Naboo delicacies put forward by the droids. It was obvious that he planned to be drunk by the time they got to discussing their final moves, which was not easy with his alcohol tolerance. But he accomplished it by the time he pushed his dessert plate away and lit up a cigarette.

“Sir,” the W8-TR serving droid protested, “smoking is not allowed within the manor. It endangers the guests and the textiles.”

“Shut it up,” Hux said.

“He can do what he wants, Waiter.”

“Very well,” W8-TR replied. “Enjoy your carcinogens,” it called out over its shoulder as it left.

“Republicans are always so self-righteous about health,” Hux drawled.

“We take care of each other.”

“Does that mean you’re going to add in a demand for an Imperial public smoking ban?”

“Should we wait for you to sober up?” Kylo asked.

“No. We won’t really be talking about anything new,” Hux said, arching one eyebrow. “Just confirming what we’ll do. And for that, I’d rather be drunk.”

“As you wish.”

The plan was ultimately simple. It had to be, so they could complete it without being in constant communication with each other. They would conspire with each other to bring the coming war to the swiftest possible end. Although he never outright disagreed with Kylo’s suggestions, Hux had misgivings over almost every aspect. 

When they had finished, Kylo said, “You don’t entirely trust me.”

“I have to trust you. That doesn’t mean I also have to be comfortable with it. And you don’t have complete faith in me, either.”

“The Force determines whether or not we succeed. I have little influence.”

As he stubbed out his third cigarette, Hux replied acidly, “It must be so nice to have the Force to absolve yourself of personal responsibility. I’m sure it will comfort you if you ever finish strangling me, or if I’m vaporized by one of your mother’s ships.” Then he got out of his chair, making sure the legs scraped loudly against the floor before he left for the balcony. It had started to rain, and cold, humid air blew through the open door.

Too much was starting to feel like the end between them, as they were drawn along the paths they had already set for themselves. Night had fallen hours ago, cloaking the lake and hills in darkness.

“The rain is very convenient for my mood,” Hux said, after Kylo joined him.

“Do I frighten you now?”

“I’m wary of you, which is in my own best interests.”

Relief mingled with disappointment as Kylo asked, “Then what are you afraid of?”

For a moment, Kylo had a clear image of an elderly man, thin and blue-eyed, along with terror held so long that it had gone rancid. The man was soon replaced with the monster from the shuttle. “The thing I saw behind you,” he replied. “What was it—besides the Force?”

Something old and malevolent and hungry. Kylo’s ignorance probably gave him peace. “You had a better look at it than I did.”

“Why won’t you answer me? It wants me dead, Kylo.”

“I’ll put your description into the HoloNet and get back to you.”

“Do you honestly not know?” Hux said, outright disdainful.

“I don’t,” Kylo replied, unable to hold back the anger bubbling up. “Thousands of years of Jedi _and_ Sith tradition were lost when the Jedi Temple was sacked by the Empire and then sacked again by the Republic. All Yoda left Luke with was a hut smelling like expired rations and the swamp around it.” His words came faster, and he felt but could not stop the growing charge in the air around him. “Luke insisted that Yoda and Obi-Wan talked to him through the Force for a little while after they died, which I never believed until I felt a monster breathing down my neck as I tried to crush the life out of you. I don’t know. I don’t know,” Kylo growled, “because I’m the inheritor of lies, good-willed ignorance, and whatever else the Force wants to fuck me with.”

The rain sparked. Lightning flared harmlessly above, seeming to drain the air of oxygen and reeking of ozone. Kylo had never attempted Force lightning, but he recognized it, and feared what it meant. He should not have been close enough to the dark side for lightning to answer, especially unsummoned. Hux was only startled by the noise, not realizing that it had been Kylo’s doing.

“I’ll help you,” Hux said. Kylo felt pity from him for the first time, and Kylo found he wanted more of it. Pathetic. He wanted to retreat into Hux’s arms, because Hux would let him, but he clung to the balcony railing instead.

“I already sent scouts looking for Skywalker,” Hux added.

“Why?”

“The Jedi could interfere again.”

Sometimes, Kylo wished that Luke could. “Luke is broken.”

“I think it unlikely. If I find him, should I send him to you?”   

With a nod, Kylo replied, “Unharmed.”

“Of course.” Hux looked out at the lake, where a few fisher’s lamps bobbed on the water.  “What would you do, Kylo, if I went against our agreement? Destroyed another planet, caused a few million extra casualties here and there? Would you try to stop me?”

“Do you expect me to say yes or no?”

“I need you to admit it.”

“Yes,” Kylo answered.

“Would you still love me?”

Kylo could not even stop loving Snoke. Hux would be impossible. “Yes.”

“Marriage is a guarantee of fidelity, isn’t it? A writ of safe conduct.”

“That’s the most military definition of marriage I have ever heard, but yes,” Kylo replied.

“We’re agreed. Fetch your steward and have him marry us.”

Bewildered, Kylo checked his chrono. “It’s nearly midnight.”

“Why does that matter? Do you need to order flowers?” Hux’s mind was racing, but he was serious. He even truly wanted what he was asking for.

“You’re drunk.”

Waving his hand, Hux replied, “My insobriety won’t invalidate our completely secret, illegal wedding.”             

“If it _were_ legal, it would.” Kylo took Hux’s hand in his. “Say you love me.”

Hux started to back away, but caught himself. “I don’t have to; you’re psychic.”  

“Say it, please. I won’t marry you if you can’t say it, because marriage means something to me.” Padmé and Anakin’s marriage had never been recorded either, but it had mattered.

“I love you,” Hux said, and turned his gaze back to the lake. Committing to someone was easier for him than acknowledging why. “There. I hope you appreciate it.”

“I do.”

His steward arrived a few minutes later, half-asleep and still in his pajamas. “Is there something wrong, sir?”

“I need you to officiate a marriage.”

“But I’m not registered,” the steward replied, looking nervously from Kylo to Hux.

“That doesn’t matter,” Kylo reassured him. “I’ll tell you what to say.”

And so they were married, with a small exchange of words and a kiss. Kylo erased the steward’s memory, after. He should have been disappointed by the haste, yet he felt strangely relieved, as if they had taken the first step away from the nightfall sinking into them.

* * *

Sleep brought Kylo to the center of a blasted planet. The sky had the clarity of an abandoned world, nothing alive to alter the ozone with the uncertainty of respiration.

Hills rose from the reddened land. Kylo could not count them without feeling the same nausea that Sith artifacts gave him, and as he focused, listened to the Force, he saw that they were not hills, but tombs. Much as they disturbed him, Kylo knew that he must visit the dead. Dust hissed under his feet as he walked forward in heavy boots, and the wind caught at his robes. Looking down, he saw the robes of the Jedi Killer, and his mask was in his dream-numbed hands. He let it fall.

Tracks appeared. They were three-toed in one stride, five in another. Six. Four. Three again. The creature walked on four legs, and had size enough to devour him. Kylo thought of Darth Traya shunning the silk path of the labyrinth, following darkness instead so she could stalk the beast. Which path was Kylo truly on? He kept walking. 

The wind strengthened as he came closer to the tombs, keening as it blew through the columns and whipped around the statues of the dead. He could see some of the carven faces now, frowning as their empty eyes took in the empty planet. Two of them he recognized: Naga Sadow and Freedon Nadd, master and apprentice reunited. So Kylo was on Korriban, though its dream self was different from any holo he had seen. The tracks led onward, past the monuments to the unremembered.

All of the tombs were sealed, except for one. Its entrance yawned blackly before him, swallowing up the monster’s tracks. Dread settled over his shoulders. He could not run from this place, nor would the beast hurt him. “Beloved,” it had called him on the shuttle. Kylo understood too well how love could feed the dark side.

It was nearly pitch black when he entered the tomb. He reached out to see with the Force instead, feeling for the monster’s shifting presence. It was perched on top of a distant alcove, whipping its long tail and growling deep in its chest. But it did not speak to him, nor could Kylo see more than its outline. The few lamps in the tomb cast a weak light, too little to illuminate the creature.

His eyes soon adjusted to the dark, and he saw what he could not sense with the Force: a pale, white-haired woman sitting on top of a sarcophagus, wearing the dark hooded robe of the Sith. Her hands were folded in her lap, hidden entirely by her sleeves. “Holocrons are dangerous things,” she said, fixing her sightless black eyes on Kylo. “Did you think that we only teach if you ask?”

“What are you?” He could feel nothing from her, no mind, not even a trace of light or darkness. Yet she appeared as a Sith Lord, and a powerful one. 

“Not even a ghost. I have followed the light side and the dark, and died hating them both.”

“You’re Darth Traya.”

“Yes,” she replied. “Or Kreia, or just an old woman, privileged with the assumed harmlessness of age. Snoke gave you quite the historical education, yet he did not tell you what you most desire to know.”

Kylo forced himself to look towards the monster. “What is that thing?”

“The dark side, attracted by your bloodline. It will have you the moment you fully turn your back on the light.”

That was how it had come so close to him on the shuttle, driving him to kill, to do what Vader had done. “How do I stop it?”

“You can’t,” she said, smiling wryly. “If you are told that there are two paths, the silk and the dark, which do you follow?”

“I have been set on the dark.”

“Only because that is the path you see yourself on. The world can lie to you just as easily as people can.”   

“But if I follow the silk path, I’ll fail,” Kylo snarled. “You chose the darkness too.” 

Traya laughed. “Is that what they say? The Sith were such fools.” Three lightsabers appeared, floating around her. Kylo stepped back as they ignited, shedding violet light around the tomb. “Destroy my holocron,” Traya declared, “or I will visit you again. You’re not the equal of Meetra Surik, but the galaxy can hinge upon you nonetheless.”

The lightsabers flew forward.

* * *

Kylo awoke in his own bed, alone. He groped for his datapad to see the time – 0830. The dream had kept him asleep long past when Hux must have gotten up. He felt sick, and the Sith artifacts on the other end of the mansion were vibrating in his head. Now that he was facing the day, Kylo realized that it was more of a vision than a dream. Darth Traya had truly shown herself to him, and the monster. He had not known that he should seal away the holocrons he had taken from the shuttle, because like so many things, no one had told him.

In the days of the Old Republic, Traya had been the great Revan’s Jedi master, and later, the founder of a Sith academy. Like any Sith who survived to old age, she was betrayed by her own apprentices. After that, no one knew. Kylo had never heard the name Meetra Surik before, but that could be researched. But if Surik was a Jedi, the records were surely lost.

He would think on Traya later. Too much was happening for him to be concerned with anything else. And he still felt the loss of Snoke, his unfailing guidance. Traya had _told_ him things, even though she was only a pattern from a holocron. She knew how he fought inside himself, and all he lacked.

According to the security system, Hux was in the atrium. Kylo dressed himself and took a few moments to try to make his hair look less slept on; it was the last time he would see Hux for months, at the least. The last time he would see his husband, Kylo mused. After Hux had fallen asleep—or just as likely, passed out—Kylo had put in an order that had arrived just an hour ago. He picked them up on his way to the atrium.

The atrium was a small garden in the west wing, which had been poorly tended since Palpatine’s death. Kylo kept it that way, enjoying the patch of wildness. Hux was standing by the moss-covered fountain, thoughtfully watching a glimmerfly as it flit from flower to flower. There was a tall, empty glass at the table, and the remains of breakfast.

“Some honeymoon you’ve treated me to,” Hux said. “You overslept.”

Kylo smiled. “You’re staying in an Imperial Palace and drinking from an open bar.”

“Thank you. Your droid only grumbled a little about serving Bloody Mandalorians before ten.”

His father had insisted the only true cure for a hangover was to keep drinking. Something Han must have learned before he left the Imperial Academy. “I wish you would drink less,” said Kylo.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” Hux replied, curious rather than offended. “It’s as much a part of the military as blowing people up. The former certainly makes the latter easier. I’ll dry out again after this is all over.”

Seeing Hux so conflicted was reassuring; he was not as strong as he thought, and it made Kylo feel less alone. “I bought something for us,” Kylo said, taking out the jewelry box and opening it.

Hux’s eyes widened. “You don’t know my ring size.”

“They adjust. You don’t have to take one.”

Frowning, Hux picked up one of the rings and rolled it between his fingers. The band was completely plain and bore no inscription. “I can’t wear it.”

“I know. But think of it as your writ of safe conduct. If you don’t force my hand,” Kylo said, allowing his voice to shake, “then you have it. For the rest of my life.”

It was far more than a love confession. They had been born on opposite sides, and they might die that way. Reaching into his tunic, Hux pulled out his identitags so he could slip the ring on the chain. Kylo put the remaining ring on his finger, which would be concealed by the gloves he usually wore.

“I can’t allow myself to stay any longer,” Hux said. His eyes downcast, he gently cupped Kylo’s face in his hands and kissed him, too briefly.  “Until the end.”

* * *

Kylo returned to Hosnian Prime wishing that he could hollow himself out and sleep for weeks. But he had two obligations left on the planet, and then the final phase could begin.

There was nothing in his apartment that he cared to save, so he went directly to Garrota’s. His assistant answered her door quickly, wiping her hands on her skirt as whatever she was cooking for dinner bubbled in the background.

“Kylo?” Garrota asked. “Everyone’s asking after you; I’ve had to cancel all your meetings and apologize to more species than I can count on two hands. You haven’t even been answering my calls.”  

“You have to leave Hosnian Prime,” Kylo said, speaking in a rush as he closed the door behind him. “It’s not safe here, and you can’t work for me anymore. I’ll set you up with all the money you need.”

Garrota shook her head. “What?”

“You’re leaving.”

“What’s unsafe? I’m not going to run off just because you’re throwing money at me.” She was frightened, but he had no reassurances for her. There was no way to make this easy. Or right, depending on how one looked at it.

“I can’t tell you that. You need to go,” he insisted. “I can’t protect you from what’s coming.”

“I’m not budging until you tell me what’s going on,” Garrota replied, discreetly reaching behind her, where Kylo knew she kept a blaster. She was brave because she had never seen Kylo kill anyone. “And when I know,” she continued, “then I’ll decide what I’ll do about it.”

“This is not up to you.”

She realized too late what Kylo meant to do. “Don’t you dare use mind tricks—”

Kylo cut her off. She yelped as one of her lekku got caught between her and the wall as Kylo shoved her back, holding her in place by her forearms. He had to keep her from using her blaster or running. “Garrota Terza. You decided you want to start again. You’re afraid of me, and you’re—sick, of this life.”

“Stop it!”

“Garrota Terza. You decided you want to start again. You’re afraid of me.”

“Stopitstopit—“

Kylo repeated the phrase as Garrota started to sob.

“Please. Please don’t do this to me.”

“This is the only way I can save you.” Mind tricks, Snoke had taught him, pulled on the light side. Sith took; Jedi convinced. Even against someone’s will. “Garrota Terza. You decided you want to start again. You’re afraid of me.”

Resistance died from Garrota’s eyes. “I want to start again,” she said numbly. “I’m so tired of being afraid of you.”

“I’ve bribed you with credits to keep my secrets. You just want out. You will never tell anyone about me, or what I’ve done. You will never wonder what happened to me. You will leave Hosnian Prime forever, and settle somewhere else.”

“Kuat,” Garrota muttered. “I could go to Kuat. Get away from you and your secrets.”

“Yes. Go to Kuat.” The shipyards would keep her safe. Neither side could bomb its own shipbuilder. “And be happy.”

“Yes. I’m happy.” Garrota smiled up at him, as if he had just given her a lovely gift.

His knees felt weak as he left the apartment, and he held out his hand to steady himself in the hallway. But he found himself making a fist, slamming at the thick steel wall before he let out a scream. An alien down the hall opened their door and looked curiously at Kylo, clearly debating whether he should call security on the human losing his mind. He could make the alien forget, but it did not matter anymore. Kylo was done being Senator Ren, and the HoloNet would soon have something much greater to report than a single scream. 

Only one task left. Kylo needed a present for his mother. He arrived at the apartment he had arranged for Fairhand, tucked between some of Kylo’s most trustworthy and paranoid agents. Kylo rang the buzzer, then forced the door open. Fairhand leapt to his feet, leaving his datapad to clatter onto the ground.

“Pack a bag,” Kylo muttered. “We’re joining the Resistance.”

“You have to be fucking shitting me,” Fairhand snapped, covering up his fear with indignation.

“I’m completely serious. You’re a sign of my new sincerity.” Kylo stepped closer to Fairhand, seeing if he would flinch. Fairhand had to lift up his chin so he could meet Kylo’s eyes. “Don’t even consider betraying me,” Kylo said, putting his hand just beneath Fairhand’s throat. “I’ll know, and nothing will save you.”

Fairhand held Kylo’s gaze. Like Hux, he was extremely good at putting on a mask, no matter how afraid he was. “You’re not the first person to tell me that,” Fairhand replied.

“I’ll be the last.”

Kylo pushed him away, then seated himself quickly to disguise the weakness crawling over him. Fairhand busied himself packing, making sure to slam down everything he could. Kylo pressed his fingers against his temple, as if he could somehow hold his mind together.

He had to wear a new skin now. Would he let his parents call him Ben? Would they grow to trust him? Could Kylo even live with what was to come, alone as he had to be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go out to cosleia for the excellent beta!
> 
> Kreia and all the Sith mentioned can be found in the Knights of the Old Republic videogame series and also a lot of the old EU materials.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't expect the fic that I started writing for Suz's amazing [Senator Ren fanart](http://suzannart.tumblr.com/post/141931697132/me-myself-you-cannot-be-serious-i-am-in-fact) would grow eight legs and take over, but here it is. 
> 
> I post about Senator Ren and Hux's antics on tumblr, both seriously and not seriously at all, on my [senator au](http://sathinfection.tumblr.com/tagged/senator-au) tag. There's headcanons, ficlets, and fanart (by others, since I can't draw a straight line). I've also made a master post with all the links neatly collected [here](http://sathinfection.tumblr.com/senatorau).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Goodwill Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133619) by [Sath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/pseuds/Sath)




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